One Week
by EverspringNative
Summary: The third story about Erik Kire, former POTO engaged to Julia Seuratti. One week remains before their wedding and Erik must make amends with his past in order to have a future. He's fully prepared to start his new life, but an unexpected death challenges
1. Chapter 1

A/N Prereaders in Gabrinaland: There were several changes throughout.

This is a continuation of Erik Kire's story. In order the stories are A Heart that Waits, A Heart that Bleeds; Ghost's Shadow, and now One Week.

One Week

Julia made it perfectly clear that I had two duties: purchase her ring and attend the wedding. Everything else would be planned and organized by the womenfolk. The more I heard them discussing dresses and flowers the clearer it became that she was correct. I hadn't the patience to toil over those details of the wedding.

With the ring on her finger, I had my own plans brewing for our wedding, which I intended to keep private until our wedding day.

"You may choose the cake," Julia said with a sly smile. "You're a far better judge of confections than I am, wouldn't you say?"

"Indeed," I said, holding my hand on the small of her back as we stood in the dining room following supper.

She was teasing, I knew, and I enjoyed seeing her so relaxed. I was no longer seeing mere glimpses of the woman I had fallen in love with years ago. We would be together for the rest of our lives and I knew her smile would always be for me, just as my heart had always belonged to her, regardless of whether or not either of us had realized it in the past.

For the remainder of the evening Charles, Alex and I holed ourselves up in the safety of the parlor. Charles poured two bourbons for us to celebrate while Alex was allowed drinking chocolate, which Ruby had made after she returned.

There was still no ring gracing her finger.

Archie joined us briefly in the parlor once he said goodnight to Ruby, who was finishing her cleaning with Meg's help. We could hear Madeline telling Meg to sit down and rest herself, but Meg would have no part of it. She said she felt better if she spent less time reclining and more time engaged in activities, which was what she was accustomed to before her current condition.

"When will it be your turn?" Charles asked Archie.

Archie shrugged and I saw Alex briefly glare at him, clearly still sore over the time Monsieur Leach spent with our cook.

"It's being discussed," Archie said at last, tapping his knuckles on the table.

"With the way the ladies were speaking I was certain that you and Mademoiselle Dubois would return as a happily engaged couple tonight."

Archie nodded. "Women and their vicious tongues," he said with a sigh. "Ru-mors, ru-mors, ru-mors. Why should we expect to marry so soon? We've only courted a few months."

Charles leaned forward. "But the nagging never ends," he confided with a wink.

"Then I shall be in no hurry to shackle myself," Archie announced. He looked at me. "You poor old fool."

Alex, not realizing their jests, took offense on my behalf, so I sent him to the kitchen and told him to ask Ruby for a snack since he had been so good all day. He was starry-eyed when he left the room, but before the door closed I heard him mutter that he would have asked Ruby to marry him already if she were his companion.

"If it's meant to be I guarantee you that those chains will be set in place well before you wed," Charles said. He took another sip of his bourbon and set the glass aside. "Good chains, I dare say, Archie. You'll find out soon enough even if you deny your interest or balk over marriage."

Archie grunted. "We'll see."

"Your concerns no longer matter. If it's a wedding she wants, it's a wedding you'll have. And then you'll be shoved off to the parlor while she and her lady friends discuss what material your chains should be made of," Charles laughed.

"I'll make you a deal, Charles, old friend. Once Monsieur Kire fills his house with children I'll ask Ruby for her hand," Archie answered as he finished the bourbon Charles had poured for him and placed it on the service table.

"That should not be difficult," Charles chuckled to himself. He looked at me and I saw the words in his eyes well before he spoke. "Dinner will be cold each night, but it wouldn't be difficult."

Before I could retort, Alex appeared in the doorway.

"How do you mean, Uncle Charles?"

Poor Charles couldn't keep a sober face. "Nothing, Alex."

Alex furrowed his brow and closed the parlor door behind him. "I don't understand. How will Father fill the house with children?"

Charles turned white as a ghost and cleared his throat as he realized his folly. I had a feeling what questions would come up in Alex's lessons soon enough. "I said no such thing."

"Well, no, but Monsieur Leach did and you said it wouldn't be difficult."

"It seems I have forgotten," Charles muttered uncomfortably. He looked to me, but as far as I was concerned he had brought this upon himself. "I apologize, Alex."

Alex gave him a suspicious look. "Uncle Charles, why would dinner be cold each night? I don't understand what that has to do with children."

Archie chuckled to himself, which left Alex exasperated. "Ruby will tell me," he huffed before he opened the door and walked out again. I considered following him, but I knew Ruby wouldn't tell him anything. Besides, I rather enjoyed hearing what Charles had to say.

With Alex gone, Charles, Archie and I turned our discussion to politics and art. Charles seemed more exhausted than usual, what with his excursion during the day and his wife's condition drawing near its end. He excused himself early, which led to Archie calling it a night as well.

"We should play together, Monsieur," Archie said as we shook hands. "When you and Julie-dear are married, of course."

He left with Ruby, who was finished for the day and prepared to return to her flat.

Charles stopped me before Meg wheeled him to their bedroom and asked if I had taken offense to his words.

"It wasn't my intention to overstep my bounds, Monsieur," he said.

"I believe Alex has made you suffer enough," I replied.

"Very true," Charles laughed. "And I have no doubt it will be a topic of many, many discussions over the next few weeks."

The house was quiet when Julia knocked on the parlor door and said she was going to take Lisette home and put her in bed. I offered to help her, but Madeline walked into the parlor. Ever the watchdog, Madeline stared at me in silent warning. I found her intervention into my private affairs highly irritating.

Despite my best intentions, Julia said she was tired as well and would see me the following day. I walked with her and Lisette as far as the back gate before I kissed her on the cheek and told her goodnight.

"Goodnight, Monsieur Kire," Lisette said, her eyes barely able to stay open.

"Goodnight, Mademoiselle Seuratti."

She grinned. "In a week you may call me Lisette."

"Lis," Julia warned. "He may call you Lisette now if he chooses."

"I shall do as the lady requests," I said with an exaggerated bow that made Lisette giggle.

Julia placed her arm around Lisette and disappeared through the gate. I waited until I saw the light appear in Julia's bedroom before I returned to my home, glancing back once to see her through the window. The day when we would no longer part could not come soon enough.

When I returned to my home it was dark and quiet. I could hear Meg and Charles' muffled voices as well as Madeline humming to herself. Alex's room was dark, which left me alone with Bessie and Aria, who ran into the kitchen the moment they heard me enter.

Bessie cocked her head to the side and whined and I knew what she wanted.

"Come, old girl," I said. It was time we resumed our walks together.


	2. Christine

OW2

Bessie was so beside herself in absolute delight that I thought she would trip over her ears.

It was a cool night, clear and breezy and perfect for a walk through the quiet streets of Paris. The air smelled faintly of rain, though it must have been some distance away judging by the clarity of the obsidian sky.

The dog wasn't the only one glad to be out of the house. It had been a long time since I had enjoyed privacy, and though I relished the time I spent with Alex and Julia, it was somewhat of a relief to have nothing but my thoughts for an hour. The silence was no longer lonely, as I knew I could return and find company. Being alone was now my decision.

Strange, I realized, as I had never before enjoyed my own company. Indeed, things were changing.

Given the hour we went for our stroll, I allowed her the liberty of bounding ahead of me. I folded her leash and put it in my pocket. She never strayed, as our walks were usually at an hour when no one else around.

Besides, she tended to stop and sniff every bush and lamp post, which left me standing on the corner waiting for her to catch up.

A voice ahead drew my attention, and I called to Bessie so that I could leash her until we were alone again. She wasn't quite a guard dog, but I didn't want to risk her biting someone—even though I was certain that she was more likely to be the one receiving a bite than issuing one.

She bounded toward me at her own discretion, her tail wagging as she sniffed a trail that suddenly interested her enough that she continued ignoring me. I cleared my throat, fearing that she would howl and frighten or alarm other denizens of the night. She made a noise at me as though she were voicing her disapproval of my interruption, although she didn't protest being leashed again.

I wondered what would happen at the end of the week when Julia and I were married. Julia wasn't particularly fond of dogs or cats. It wasn't that she hated them, but she'd never had an animal as a pet. My home, however, had more animals than necessary.

I glanced at Bessie, who was in need of stopping to regain her lost trail. She must have sensed me studying her because she looked up, placed her paws against my shin, and barked.

With a smile I decided that she would now sleep in Alex's room. At least until Julia grew comfortable enough to allow Bessie on our bedroom floor.

It warmed my heart to think of such things. I never expected to debate on where my dog would sleep, mostly because I never imagined I would have a dog, much less a wife to share my bed. It was a good feeling, a safe feeling, one which I felt immensely comfortable with and almost…triumphant.

My wife. My living, breathing wife. No more Opera Ghost, no more Phantom, just Erik Kire. It was simple and I was content, which in and of itself was a surprise given my past. I felt as though somehow I had eluded my dark fate, the hellish prison of solitude I had felt chained to for as long as I could remember. I had finally overcome the man I had been for so long.

With my mind elsewhere I wasn't prepared for Bessie to charge forward, her tail pointing straight out. I lost hold of her and went to step on her leash, but she eluded me and sprinted forward, making the most terrible baying sound I'd ever heard her make.

When I looked up she had a man stranded on a park bench. Even from where I stood I could smell the alcohol on him as he teetered back and forth on his heels, struggling to stand upright.

"Call off your dog," he slurred.

I paused, squinting in the dark. His blond hair was mussed, but I knew this man.

I couldn't forget him. Our paths were too tightly intertwined.

"What are you doing?" I asked while Bessie nipped at his feet. She could have easily jumped onto the bench and grabbed hold of his leg but for whatever reason she decided to merely torment him. I whistled and she sat, her backside shaking with excitement of having treed, or rather benched, someone.

"I've returned to Paris," he said. He glanced at me, his eyes bloodshot and ringed with dark circles. He had been crying, his face showing tracks from the tears, his skin blotchy from gin blossoms and emotion.

He looked terrible.

"To drink?" I asked.

There was no reason for me to question him or concern myself with his presence, but I couldn't stop myself. I was flabbergasted by his appearance, really, and I had never expected to see him again—especially under these circumstances and in this disheveled appearance. What little respect I had for him dwindled.

He laughed, throwing his head back so that he could howl at the moon. The action caused him to lose his balance and teeter dangerously on the bench.

"Get down, Monsieur," I said firmly, as I found his brackish behavior quite irritating.

My words startled him, and as he took a step back I thought for certain he would fall into the street and split his head open.

"Your dog will bite me," he said.

I whistled again and Bessie reluctantly abandoned her prey and sat beside me, sighing in disgust of being denied at least one bite.

"Where is your carriage?" I asked.

"Hell if I know," he sneered. He pointed at me as he stood on the bench, his shirt untucked and his cravat partially unpinned. "But I knew I would find you. I knew I would see you once more, Erik Kire. I know exactly what you're thinking to yourself, but never mind those thoughts. They're not true."

He had been drinking far too much for me to bother with him. I thought about turning away, but I feared him causing a scene if I were to abandon him.

"What isn't true?" I asked.

"You think I'm trying to steal your son."

I stared at him, my eyes narrowed. He wasn't in a state of mind where an argument would work—not that I was inclined to argue with him. I wasn't sure if he would listen to reason, either, but one way or another I had to send him somewhere. Of course, I owed him nothing. But leaving him seemed inappropriate.

"That isn't at all what I was thinking, Monsieur de Chagny. I was thinking you should step down and return to your hotel. It's late, and you are in no condition to wander about. Your family will worry."

"Yes," he said, but I didn't like the way he looked at me when he agreed. A terrible feeling snaked through my insides.

His face suddenly sobered, and as I watched in silence Raoul de Chagny climbed down from the bench. He sat heavily, his lips quivering and his hands raking through his hair. I'd never seen emotions fluctuate so greatly in all my life.

"Monsieur?" I questioned.

He took a deep, shuddering breath. "She's dead," he said, his eyes meeting mine. "My wife is dead."


	3. Guilt

OW3

I didn't know what to say to him.

He stared at me for a long moment, his lips quivering, tears staining his face and his nose running. He didn't utter a sound and neither did I. There was really nothing to say. This wasn't a revelation that went without some reflection.

With each thump of my heart I realized the absurdity of the situation. The Vicomnte de Chagny and I were not designed to confide in one another, but as I stood at a distance I felt as though he expected something from me—something I would in no way be prepared to give.

He looked away from me suddenly and pressed his hands to his face. With as much dignity as he could muster he turned away and sobbed.

Glancing down, I found Bessie inching forward on her belly. She whined and wagged her tail until she was crouched at de Chagny's feet. I tapped against my leg in an attempt to call her back, but she had made up her mind and nudged his knee with her nose.

The vicomte doubled over on his side and pushed her away, muttering something about how he shouldn't drink so much. He begged my pardon, attempted to control his outburst, and wobbled to his feet. After two steps he gave up and sat again, falling hard onto the bench where Bessie had jumped up, after deciding it was her duty to befriend him.

Each passing second made me increasingly uncomfortable. I shifted my weight and turned away, seeing several people walking down the street and a carriage horse clip-clopping along the cobblestones.

"I thought you should know before her death was reported in the papers," he said at last, his voice scratchy and heavy with emotion. He coughed into the crook of his elbow and cleared his throat. "I was going to send you a telegram in the morning, but I didn't want him to see it."

He was referring to Alexandre. I nodded, finding myself grateful for his consideration. I glanced at him and he seemed to be sobering a little, but not nearly enough. He would have sobered faster with coffee or tea in him.

"When did it happen?" I asked, not looking at him.

He drew in a breath and let it out in a ragged sigh. "Two days ago in Poland. No one knows yet; I had the opera managers see to that. But everyone will know soon enough. No one can resist a bit of bad news, isn't that so?" He paused to remove his handkerchief from his pocket and covered his face. "She's gone."

My heart wrenched in my chest. I felt ashamed of myself for wanting to weep but I wasn't sure why. My grief was not only for Christine. I stood watching Raoul de Chagny and felt a sense of pity, which I knew would have incensed him if he knew.

Christine.

Tears flooded my eyes and I blinked them away, refusing to cry for her, at least at that moment. I wanted to keep the numbness at bay, to prevent myself from feeling anything toward Christine. So much of my life had revolved around her. I didn't want to give her another moment.

I took a deep breath and told Bessie to get down and leave Monsieur de Chagny alone, but Raoul waved his hand and said it was fine. He brushed his hand rather quickly over her head, scratching furiously behind her ears. She didn't seem to appreciate it much, but she sat and licked his wrist.

There was a cut on his wrist that drew my attention. It would leave a nasty, telling scar. Absently I glanced down at the hand I had cut when I broke my bedroom mirror. I briefly closed my eyes and swallowed.

"May I ask what happened?" I said, keeping my voice low.

It took him several long, uncomfortable moments to speak again. He cried hard, his body shaking as he rocked back and forth. My own eyes clouded and I looked away. She was impossible to discard, to forget so easily. She had been far too much of my life, and I was a fool for thinking I could deny her a moment of grief.

Rising to his feet, Raoul pointed down the street. "My hotel," he said, "is roughly three miles that way."

He'd never make it walking the three miles. I jingled Bessie's leash and she obeyed, glancing back to see if the vicomte was coming with her.

"My home is half a block away," I said. "Madeline will undoubtedly make you a cup of coffee if you'd wish to…remedy yourself."

He stared at me, disbelieving my hospitality. Again we stared at one another and I realized how old he suddenly looked. I was accustomed to the teenager, to the young man with a clean, angelic face. I had grown to hate that face with more rancor than I thought one could possibly harbor.

He seemed changed in his grief.

"I don't need your hospitality," he said. "Nor your pity."

Leashing Bessie, I nodded. "There is nothing that binds us," I retorted.

Yet strangely it seemed as though we were bound more than ever.

-o-

"He's…excuse me?"

Madeline gripped my arms so tightly that I had to pull away from her. "The vicomte," I answered her. "He's here. I will explain in the morning."

Madeline stared at me and adjusted her robe. "Why is he here? At this hour? Is Alex in his room?"

"Alex is fine," I replied. I knew she wanted more, but with the Vicomte sitting alone in the parlor I didn't want to leave him for long. I feared he would either wander through the house or out the door.

"This worries me," Madeline said simply. "I'll make coffee. Don't drink too much; you'll never sleep."

With a nod I left her and returned to the parlor, where de Chagny was sitting with his face in his hands. Bessie, ever vigilant, took a seat in the chair beside him and watched him with canine concern, her dark eyes appearing sullen. She merely glanced at me when I entered and took my seat.

It would have been wise of me to concoct a speech or find something worthwhile to say to him, but my mind was blank. I sat dumbly, a worthless mound behind a desk with folded hands and a thousand unspoken questions.

"She was everything I had," Raoul said, his voice barely a whisper. "I gave her everything I had. I thought she knew."

I tapped my fingers together in order to entertain myself.

"I don't know what I'll tell the girls. Certainly not the truth." He looked up at me and wiped his eyes. "This is hell, true and complete, without doors or windows to even peer out upon what is normal."

"Yes," I said, for lack of anything more consolatory.

We were silent for a long time after that and I was certain we wouldn't have exchanged any words had Madeline not tapped on the door. She barely glanced at me, as her attention was fixed on the vicomte—or Comte as it turned out. She greeted him with trained formality, saying that it was good to see him.

I knew she would be lying awake and waiting for him to leave so that she could question me at the first opportunity. With a wave of my hand I excused her and she reluctantly left, telling Monsieur de Chagny to give Christine her best.

"Why am I here?" he asked once Madeline closed the door. I knew his question was rhetorical. "I should not have come here."

"You may leave whenever you wish," I said as I stirred sugar into my coffee. He looked sober enough to walk three miles back to his hotel, though I would have rather sent him back in a cab, if one had been available. I wondered where his cab was located or whether his driver was waiting for him somewhere. A man of his wealth should not have been aimlessly wandering along the streets of Paris. If someone had seen him…

"I don't want to return to my hotel," he mumbled rather childishly. "I don't know what I will do." He paused to sip his coffee. With trembling hands he placed his cup on the table and glanced at me before turning away and rubbing his eyes. "You were the first person I thought of when I found her. Strange, isn't it? You were the only person who will ever understand how I felt for her because you felt it as well—possibly stronger than I ever did."

His words made me shudder. I nodded and stared at the calendar on my desk. I still hadn't marked my wedding date on it. I hadn't had the time.

"Do you know what I thought?"

I shook my head even though he wasn't looking at me. He was drunk enough where he would continue rambling for quite some time. Judging by his actions the last time we had encountered one another after he had been drinking, I wasn't sure if I should stop him or allow him to say what he needed to say.

"I thought about how disappointed you would be," he said, his voice shaking. "Because I allowed her to die. You wouldn't have allowed it, would you? You wouldn't have let her do it." His hands balled into fists but he didn't sob. He was turning numb again, I knew, going into a state of hopelessness and grief where tears were no longer necessary. His body and mind would began to shut down—even if only temporarily—and he would merely sit and stare and wait. I knew how that felt.

"Lesser men would have seen her pass long ago," I said. I silently included myself in that statement. "Not many men would give her a decent life."

He looked me in the eye and pursed his lips briefly before he set his heavy hand on Bessie and trained his gaze on her morose face. She licked his hand and I noticed the thin laceration on his wrist again. I suppose I never really gave much thought to his feelings for her, but I heard his love for her in his voice and saw it on his face—and even in that cut.

"How did she pass?" I questioned.

He nodded as though suddenly remembering that he hadn't explained anything. I watched him take a deep breath and exhale slowly. My insides ached, as I knew what he would say long before he spoke.

"I believe I killed her, Monsieur."


	4. Grief

OW4

I watched Raoul de Chagny gulp down the rest of his coffee, heedless to its temperature. He wiped his eyes and glanced around the room, his expression filled with grief and insurmountable guilt.

It was difficult to share the same space with him, as I continued to think of how our paths had overlapped. I wondered if we would have been better able to tolerate one another in a different lifetime. Now that we were no longer at odds I felt indifferent toward him.

"For years I've been killing her. It was the meticulous, cruel, torturous years that passed between us," he said under his breath.

"She was very ill," I mumbled, assuming she had taken too much of her medication.

Raoul nodded, acknowledging my words. "She was feeling better our last day in Paris. Her spirits were high because the girls were with us. It always made traveling easier when we were all together, and I knew everything would be fine because we were going home. She could rest, we could spend the next month by the sea…It was what she wanted." He paused for a long moment, his face taut and his lips pressed together. "And then suddenly it wasn't anything that she wanted. I was everything she absolutely despised."

At the time I knew her I had thought nothing of her mood swings. To me it was normal behavior, but even then she was quite ill. Though I didn't know what I would have done, I wish I had realized how much she suffered.

I wished I could have changed things. Moreover, I wish I could have changed myself.

"When we took the train out of Paris she told me that she wished I were you because then she would know devotion," he said, closing his eyes. "She accused me of adultery, of fathering boys, lots and lots of little boys with other women, because she had failed to give me a son. I had to send the girls with their nanny because she was so upset. You surely understand this, Monsieur, how one must see to the safety of their children above all else?"

"Of course," I said, merely to answer him. In the morning he would realize how much he had confided in me and regret it. I feared I would also confide in him by the end of the night.

"And then she decided to take a trip to Poland. She told me to stay at home with the girls, but I was worried because she wasn't eating. She was far too thin, and you know that Christine has always been rather gaunt. When she stopped dancing she lost so much weight that I thought she would starve."

My chest began to tighten as I thought back to the early days of her career. She had so much promise and no one saw it. Her struggles angered me, as I thought she should have been quite pampered in her life. She'd suffered so much with her father's passing. I never knew what happened to her mother, but I did know that Christine was utterly alone.

I thought of the Chagny children. "Where are your daughters now?"

Raoul raked his hand through his hair and sat forward, crossing his arms. He looked bewildered as he stared at the floor. "They are coming by train in the morning. They don't know yet about…their mother. I sent word that it was urgent for them to come to Paris."

Once I poured him another cup of coffee I sat back and folded my hands. His daughters, of course, belonged to him and Christine, but Alex was her son and mine. This was cause for a predicament, as her funeral would not be the place to divulge that she had borne a son out of wedlock.

Everything dawned on me then. Alex would never have a relationship with his birth mother. I knew this, but it became blatantly obvious that even if he wished to find her when he was older, it would never be, and the reality of it was bitter. There was no Christine.

"She's gone," I whispered.

Raoul nodded and looked away.

Neither one of us spoke. Anger, grief, numbness…each flooded me one by one as I thought of her. She was inside of my heart still. She would always be there, regardless of what had happened. I felt ashamed of myself for still having feelings for her, but there was no way to erase what had influenced my life for so long.

"I apologize for my intrusion," he said suddenly as he rose to his feet. "I know what you must be thinking to yourself."

"Yes," I said before he could interject his own comment. "Your daughters are fortunate to have a caring father."

His baleful eyes settled on the floor and he nodded, his grief consuming him. "How is Madame Seuratti?" he asked.

"We are to be wed in a week," I said, keeping my voice low. It wasn't the time to tell him, I knew, and I had no desire to boast. "Monsieur de Chagny—"

He offered his hand and stoically looked into my eyes. "She's a good woman. You'll be very happy together, your son and her…a daughter, is it?"

I nodded.

"She's young. She'll give you more children, I'm sure."

"I'm happy with her, with Lisette and Alex." There was no one else I needed in my life with her at my side.

When I looked at Raoul de Chagny I knew he had lost the only woman he wanted in his life as well. I couldn't imagine what I would do if I lost Julia. It made me sick to my stomach to think about her becoming ill or dying.

Raoul de Chagny turned toward the door and we both walked from the parlor, neither of us speaking until we reached the front door.

"If you would allow me, I will offer more details tomorrow when I am in better condition to do so," he said shamefully. He swallowed hard. "I apologize for approaching you in this manner."

"You may return when time allows," I replied, still feeling awkward at being so civil toward him.

He paused before he walked out the front door.

"The last image I have of my wife is of her on the floor," he whispered, rubbing his hand over the mark on his wrist. "She had removed her wedding ring and set it on the floor beside her. I stepped on it. Nearly fell on it, really. Caught myself on the sink and scratched my arm all the way to my elbow." He unbuttoned his sleeve and showed me how the cut curved around to the back of his wrist.

It relieved me to know that he hadn't harmed himself. His daughters needed someone, and I imagined that he was all they had—even before Christine had passed.

I thought he was finished speaking, but he glanced at me from the corner of his eye and sighed. "Broke it. I broke her ring. It was beyond repair." He took a deep breath and walked down the first stair. "Good night, Monsieur Kire, and thank you for your hospitality."

He was gone before I had a chance to reply. I stood very still for a moment with the door closed, turning only when I heard footsteps behind me.

Madeline was standing in the hall.

"He drinks too much," she said. "Women seldom appreciate such behavior."

"He has cause to drink."

"Erik, what's happened? Is it Alex?"

I leaned against the door and felt the first tears escaping my eyes. "She's dead," I whispered. "She murdered herself."

Before Madeline could say a word I returned to my room and closed the door, the first sob escaping as I locked the door and leaned against it. My body trembled, the grief I had felt building finally released.

Alone again, I was ready to mourn Christine at last.


	5. Finding Comfort

There are only a few changes from what I posted in gabrinaland.

OW5

The night sky turned to a dull, gray dawn before my listless eyes. I couldn't lie down, couldn't sit, and couldn't stand. I crouched against the wall and stared at the floor, my breaths leaving my body in short, ragged gasps. Coldness grasped me both inside and out, and as I remained motionless, I couldn't help but wonder why the news of her death had gripped me with such a vicious and firm hold.

My life and love was Julia, not Christine. The years of longing and lust were supposed to be behind me, not consuming me once again. Memories of her voice and face writhed within me, burrowed so deep that I thought they would never resurface. But here they were, from the first time I had watched her through the mirror to the last moment I saw her in her hotel room, raving and sick.

I mourned her in silence. With my hand over my mouth, I sobbed openly and silently

-- as a child would weep. The house seemed quieter than it did on most nights, and I feared that Alex would come bounding up the stairs to ask what was wrong.

How would he handle the tragedy, I wondered? Better than I did, I imagined. His feelings for her were never as strong as mine—and now they would never be more than they were, beyond anger or at least apathy.

Somewhere in the middle of the night my grief turned to anger. I rose to my feet and looked around my dark room, my eyes keen enough to see the paperwork piled up on my desk.

For so many years I wrote what had suited her talent. My fondness for her ebbed and I had begun to think of her as a selfish child who had grown into an egocentric adult. She didn't take her own life; she also took the lives of her children, of her husband and everyone else around her. With my own self-centered reasons, I cursed her for taking something away from me.

Miserable and cold, and with my heart too sick to think of sleep, I navigated my way through the dark house. Bessie followed me to the back door, her tail wagging slowly back and forth as though she sympathized with me.

"Should I hate her or love her still? Or neither?" I asked Bessie as I opened the back door. She looked at me quizzically before she followed me out. Knowing that she wasn't going on an excursion, she did as was necessary and trotted back inside, giving me a wistful look before the door closed.

There was only one person I wanted to see, though I wasn't sure why I insisted on leaving the house.

I was so fixated on my heartache that I didn't notice the light on in Julia's kitchen until I tried the door and found it unlocked.

She was slumped over, her head resting on her folded arms. There was a cup of tea beside her on the table, which she nearly knocked over when she woke to the sound of me entering the room.

Julia rose without a sound and frowned, nodding at me. I hadn't looked in the mirror before I left, but I knew what she saw: my eyes red, face blotchy, and lips trembling.

"Christine," I whispered.

Almost immediately I realized how asinine it was of me to seek comfort from Julia over Christine's death. My head lowered shamefully and I turned to leave again, but Julia caught my arm.

"Raoul de Chagny paid a visit late this evening. He told me he came to your house," she said, pulling me into the room.

"He did?" I questioned.

She nodded, her hand rubbing over my chest. It felt as though she were trying to bring warmth back into my heart. I wanted to tell her that my affection for her remained, but that there was now cold in the place where Christine had rested within me for so many years.

"He said you were very kind to him, very cordial given the circumstances. We spoke at the front door for only a few minutes since he said he needed to return to the hotel before his daughters arrived. He didn't say much to me, but I gathered he told you enough. I've been waiting for you all night," she said gently.

I didn't know what to say. "Why?" I asked.

She shrugged and made me sit at the table. Once she warmed a kettle of water and brought me tea, she sat very close and took my hand. Her strength was beyond measure. I could scarcely believe that she wished to comfort me as I mourned the woman who had come before her.

"Because I expected you would be upset."

"I'm not in love with her," I said, a defensive air to my tone.

"Yes, I realize that, but it doesn't mean that you are immune to grief, Erik. You're a living, breathing man. You had feelings for her, and I would expect you to feel something when she passed, whether it was sympathy or hatred."

"Hatred?"

She nodded. "I hated Louis for a long time after he died, and not because of what he did while we were married. I hated him much more for what he didn't give Lisette."

I made no reply. I wasn't sure how I felt yet.

"She has no good memories of him," Julia said under her breath. "No days in the park, no walks, no quiet evenings. What she does remember is his yelling. That isn't fair to her."

"Alex will remember that she didn't want him," I said sullenly. What a terrible feeling he would carry for the rest of his life, the rejection of his mother.

"But he does have you, Madame Giry, Meg, Charles…he is loved."

We sat for a while in silence until I finally looked at Julia, who was intently studying my face. She kept her hand over mine, giving me more comfort than she could have known.

"I'm very angry with her," I said at last, my voice trembling.

Julia nodded, her hand squeezing mine tighter. Leaning into me, she kissed my right cheek and ran her free hand along the back of my neck. I was livid beyond tears and feeling sorrier for myself and for Alex than for Christine.

"You will be for a long time, I think."


	6. Telling Alexandre

OW6

Once I was in Julia's company, I no longer felt as dismal as I had throughout the night. We said little, but I knew she would allow me to stay with her for as long as I needed. Her company was invaluable, her acceptance and understanding enough to keep me from shattering inside.

We talked for a long time about nothing in particular. Julia mentioned how she was happy with the garden Meg usually kept and that she hoped to help next year since Meg would be occupied with the baby. Her words constantly reminded me that there was life around us still.

"What will I tell Alex?" I asked blankly.

Julia and I were sitting in her bedroom. I heard Lisette singing to herself down the hall as she washed her face in the water closet.

"You'll know what to say when you see him," she assured me. She sat closer to me on the end of the bed. I had asked her if we could walk upstairs, but once we were in her room I had no idea why I had asked to be there.

"Should I tell him?" I wondered aloud.

Julia placed her hand on my knee and frowned. "It would be best to tell him today. He may resent you if you keep this from him. He does have a right to know, don't you think?"

I nodded and turned to face her, barely able to accept her sincerity. "What if he…"

I couldn't bring myself to finish my sentence much less acknowledge the thought brewing in my mind. It was unbearable to imagine Alex being indifferent to her death, though I couldn't entirely justify him being remorseful given his encounters with her.

Julia shifted at the end of the bed and turned to face me. "He's a good boy. If you would rather not be alone, I will come with you, but I don't want to impose."

"By now he is awake. Madeline may have told him."

"Would she do that?" Julia asked, her tone warm and gentle.

"No," I said, shaking my head. "No, she wouldn't interfere." I looked at her, at this woman who accepted me like no one else. "I should speak with him alone."

She smiled, her hands clasped over mine. "Would you like to eat breakfast here?"

My stomach growled, but I knew I couldn't remain at her house much longer. If I delayed, the ordeal would be much worse.

Placing my hand against her cheek, I looked into Julia's eyes. "You're everything to me," I whispered. "Everything I need in my life. You have no idea, Julia, no idea at all how much you mean to me."

Her hand pressed to the back of my head and she kissed me gently. "I'll walk you to the back door."

-o-

Alex was with Charles when I returned home. Ruby informed me that she hadn't made my breakfast yet, but she would bring it upstairs or to the parlor when I was ready to eat. Mumbling for her not to bother, I walked through the kitchen and down the hall.

"He's home," I heard Meg whisper loudly. Though she didn't say it, I knew that Meg was aware of what had happened. The gloom in her voice was apparent to my ears.

Madeline appeared first with her arm protectively held in front of Meg to keep her from walking out of Meg and Charles' room at the end of the hall. Meg's face was blotchy from crying, and when she looked at me she frowned. I found her sympathy for me odd, as I knew that in the past she had not been my champion.

"Does he know?" I asked, keeping my voice low. The library door was closed, but Alexandre had the hearing of a fox.

Madeline shook her head. "I told him you weren't feeling well this morning and that you weren't to be disturbed. He was disappointed, but you know how he is when he's with Charles. He went straight to his studies without a fuss."

My eyes were fixed on the closed library door. I didn't want to confront him, but I knew that Julia was correct and Madeline expected me to sit Alex down and inform him. It was my duty to tell him, and it was also my duty to accept and nurture his feelings.

"Is Charles aware?" I asked, my eyes fixed on Meg. She had managed to sneak into the hall where she stood behind her mother.

Meg looked away and nodded. "He would never say anything without your permission."

Her voice was strained with emotion. Meg and Christine had been close friends when they lived in the opera house, though I knew little about their relationship other than they were always together, tittering like little mice in the wings. I had to remember that she and Christine had corresponded over the years and that Christine's death would have an impact on both Madeline and Meg, who had been family to her in the dormitories.

"I told both of them this morning," Madeline piped in as she stepped forward.

She turned and told Meg to lie down a while, as to not upset herself further. Once Madeline and I were alone, she continued speaking, her voice low.

"I would have waited, but I didn't know where you had gone." She swallowed and grasped my hand briefly and I saw the terror in her eyes. I didn't blame her for feeling the worst.

"To Julia's," I said.

"Does she…?"

"Yes," I said before Madeline finished. "She knows."

The only one who didn't know was Alex. He was occupied with his daily lessons, unaware that his birth mother had committed suicide.

"What will you tell him?" Madeline whispered.

I looked at her and knew that she was praying for me to tell him a partial truth. Naturally, I had to tell him that Christine had passed away, but Madeline didn't want him to know the circumstances. Already Alex's opinion of Christine was tarnished, and if he learned that she had taken her own life he would most likely never have respect for her.

"What is necessary," I answered. "And then I will allow him to ask questions."

Madeline looked anxious, but there was nothing further to discuss. My mind was made up and I could do nothing more than hope I had made the correct decision for my son and his well-being. As much as I wanted to think only of myself and my agony, I knew in my heart that Alexandre was far more important. More than ever, he needed me and I needed him.

With great reluctance, I turned away from Madeline and Meg and knocked on the library door. I held my breath as I waited for an answer and hoped that I could survive this talk with my son.


	7. Mourn Her

All fixed! Sorry folks!

OW7

Alexandre answered the door with his usual wide-eyed enthusiasm. He motioned for me to join him so that he could show me something in his book, but once he saw my expression, he froze and pursed his lips.

"Am I in trouble?" he asked.

I shook my head and glanced at Charles, who had begun to inch his way toward the door. His eyes raised and met mine, and with a slight shake of my head, he understood that I didn't want him to leave just yet.

"Alex, sit, please," I said. I cleared my throat and gestured for him to return to his chair, which he did with great hesitation.

"Is Bessie well?" he asked.

"Yes, Bessie is fine."

"And Aria? Has she run away?"

"No, the cat is fine."

"What about Meg? Grand-mere?"

"Yes, they're fine," I said. Rubbing my fingers along my forehead, I sat beside him and sighed. As we sat side by side I couldn't bear to look him in the eye. "I need to tell you something, Alex."

Alex crossed his feet at the ankles and clasped his hands. "I'm listening, Father," he said, leaning forward.

His eyes were wide as I looked at him, his dark hair combed back. The shape of his eyes and face reminded me of Christine, and the longer I looked at him the more difficult it was to speak.

"Father?" he said when I didn't reply.

"Your mother passed away," I said quietly, glancing at his folded hands before I dared to look him in the eye.

His lips parted, his hands moved to grip the armchair tightly. "Madame Seuratti?" he whispered.

My jaw went slack and I shook my head. It took several seconds before I was able to respond, though I could see the relief in his eyes when he knew Julia was well. It wounded me that he hadn't immediately thought of Christine when I spoke of his mother.

"Your real mother, Alex, your birth mother," I stated. "Christine."

His face was ashen, but he didn't appear as distraught over the news as he had when he thought Julia was the one deceased. He nodded very slowly and looked from Charles to me.

"Where is Monsieur de Chagny?" he asked.

His question caught me off-guard and I stammered. The last thing I would have expected was for our conversation to turn to Raoul de Chagny. "He's…he's here in Paris."

"He is? How do you know, Father? Have you seen him?"

"Yes, I have," I said. "Alex, this is a very serious situation. You understand that, don't you?"

"Yes, I understand, Father. But, may I ask…is Monsieur de Chagny here with my part-sisters?"

I nodded. "They're coming here today, I believe." Part of me was relieved, yet part of me was also gravely disappointed that Alex appeared apathetic toward Christine. This appeared to be my loss, not his. I wasn't completely comfortable with that knowledge.

"May I meet my part-sisters?" Alex asked.

"I'm not certain yet," I said to him.

He frowned, but nodded valiantly. "Must I do anything?" he asked.

_Mourn her_, I thought, feeling ashamed of myself for wanting him to feel as I did. There was no reason for me to feel so strongly about Christine. She had told me time and again that she had no affection for me, yet now, as always, I considered her loss another slap to the face, one more way in which she denied me.

No one needed to tell me how pathetic I was as I thought of Christine. I knew damned well that I was a fool of a man. In the back of my mind I could almost hear Christine laughing at me.

Finally, I shook my head. "I wanted you to know, Alex, that's all."

He looked at me then, a solemn expression on his face. "I'm sorry, Father," he said.

"So am I, Alex," I said with a frown.

"Do you still love my mother?" he asked. His face turned bright red, though I imagined it was a question that had long since been on his mind.

"She gave me a son," I answered. My throat tightened. He was the only thing she had ever given me, reluctantly. however reluctant.

Alex's eyes brightened. "Me," he said with a weak smile.

I stood and ruffled his hair. "You."

Before I saw him move, Alex had risen to his feet and slammed his head into my chest. His arms wrapped around me, and all of the melancholy I had felt going into the library faded.

"Father, would you ask Monsieur de Chagny if I may see my part-sisters while they are in Paris? I would very much like to meet them…that is to say, if they would like to meet me as well. Do you think they would? Or do you think they would care to see me?"

"If time permits," I replied. "Monsieur de Chagny shall pay a visit later today if he has a spare moment."

"And then I may ask him?"

"And then I will ask him," I assured Alex. He appeared somewhat satisfied and nodded, thanking me as he returned to his seat. I glanced at Charles, who nodded once and returned to the book in his lap.

"Do you have a moment for me to show you something?" Alex asked.

I took my seat beside him again. "Of course I do, Alex."

-o-

By early evening Alex and Lisette had gone to play with several children. Alex had dinner with Lisette and Julia, which I didn't know until he returned and asked why I didn't attend. In the same breath he was running out the door.

Grief, I discovered, fueled my creativity. As I prepared to spend the rest of my evening in self-induced solitude, I discovered found the pile of finished work to my left was now greater than the stack of blank sheets to my right.

"You've been busy," Julia said.

Her voice startled me. I swore under my breath as I turned and found her standing in the doorway.

Extending my hand, I motioned her to me. She clasped my fingers and I pulled her to my side. She smiled as she placed her hand on my shoulder and bent to kiss me.

"How long have you been standing in the door?" I asked, fanning a sheet of paper to dry the ink.

"Only a moment or two. I knocked, but you didn't look up."

I grunted and set the straightened pile down before I turned and pulled a chair up for her to sit with me.

"You missed dinner," she said softly. "Not only with me, but Meg said you didn't eat with them either."

One glance at Julia and I knew her concerns. She feared I would relapse into the same situation I had found myself in the previous year, my every thought and action revolving around Christine.

With a frown, I nodded. "Tomorrow," I said.

Julia sat forward. "I came to ask what you wished to do about our…day," she said. Her face turned red, and to hide her embarrassment, she turned and coughed delicately.

"Our wedding?" I questioned.

Julia released a long sigh. "I don't want to appear selfish, Erik, but this is important to me. I want—"

"This is important to me as well," I said before she finished. I clasped her hands in mine and turned my head to the side. My life seemed to crumble before my eyes. "You are the most important person in my life and I want this…this life with you."

She kissed me and placed her hand against my cheek. "Whenever you're ready."

I smiled and rested my forehead against hers. "We're not canceling our wedding," I said, though I had no idea what the next six days would bring.


	8. Coping

OW8

As promised, the vicomte returned while Julia was still visiting. Lisette and Alex were outside playing on the front steps, and through the study window I heard Alex shout his greeting to Monsieur de Chagny.

"Lisette!" Alex hollered in typical fashion. Julia and I both shook our heads and sighed. "It's Monsieur de Chagny! Monsieur de Chagny, do you remember me?"

"Yes," I heard the vicomte say. Julia glanced at the clock and then back at me. "Of course I remember you, Alexandre."

"My father said you were coming today. Didn't he, Lisette?"

"I don't know. I wasn't there," Lisette said. She cleared her throat. From our place in the study, Julia and I exchanged smiles of amusement.

"Well, he did," Alex said begrudgingly. He grunted, and I knew Lisette had elbowed him. "Monsieur de Chagny, this is my future sister, Lisette Seuratti."

"Nice to meet you, Mademoiselle Seuratti."

"Nice to meet you as well, Monsieur de Chagny."

"How are you, Alexandre?" the vicomte asked.

Julia and I both rose to our feet to rescue him from Alexandre's questioning.

Alexandre lowered his voice. "I'm well, but…"

"Yes, Alex?" the vicomte said.

My heart sank, as I knew what he would say.

"My father has something he wanted to ask you…on my behalf."

Julia grasped my wrist tightly as she attempted to pull me into the hall, but my feet were planted on the carpet.

"May you ask me?" Raoul de Chagny asked.

Alexandre hesitated. "No, I shouldn't," he said at last. "I'll show you inside."

Julia sighed in relief and I placed my hand on her shoulder as we headed down the hall toward the foyer. Alex opened the front door and allowed Lisette to walk in first, followed by the vicomte.

Raoul removed his coat and hat and released a deep sigh as he nodded to Julia and me. He still looked terrible, though in a different way than he had the previous night. His light eyes were tired, his features pinched. I couldn't begin to imagine the hell he had been through in the last few days.

We shook hands while Julia took his coat and hat. Meg, who had undoubtedly heard the commotion, appeared from the library and called Lisette and Alex to her.

Timid as a lamb, she came forward and frowned at our guest.

"Madame…Lowry, if I recall correctly?"

"Yes," Meg said. She strained for a smile. "How are you, Comte?" she asked, reminding me that his title had changed over the years.

Raoul sighed again. He offered nothing more than a nod.

"I'm terribly sorry," Meg said.

"As am I," Raoul answered. He shifted his weight and glanced around. "But I am happy for you. Children bring great joy."

"Yes," Meg said quietly before she turned and awkwardly wobbled away.

Neither of us spoke. We didn't look at each other as we stood in the foyer and studied the floor. If it hadn't been for Julia, we would have remained in silence, neither one willing to be the first to speak.

"Would either of you like some coffee or tea?" Julia asked.

"Yes," I said, though I wasn't thirsty. "Thank you."

"I believe Ruby made gingerbread cookies. I'll bring a tray to the parlor for the two of you."

Like animals being led to slaughter, we trudged down the hall and seated ourselves. I thanked him for coming, and after he nodded, we promptly resumed our silent state once again.

"Your son said you had something to ask me," Raoul said suddenly.

We glanced uneasily at one another. I didn't want to discuss Alex's request. It seemed inappropriate to me, though I wasn't sure why.

"He wants to meet your daughters," I answered at last.

He considered my words with a silent nod and a shift in his chair. Suddenly I wanted him to concede to Alex's desires and allow my son to meet his half-sisters, the family that he had never known. I felt a sense of urgency in allowing him to meet his two sisters, though I wasn't sure if it was for his good or my own selfish desire for him to know the last living parts of his birth mother.

Why was I such an intolerable mess?

"I think it would be good for them," Raoul agreed. "But perhaps at a different time."

My heart rose in my chest and promptly sunk like a stone to the bottom of the sea.

"They are here with you?"

He nodded, but I noted the reluctance in his eyes. It wasn't my position to question the widower as to when his legitimate daughters could meet their bastard half-brother.

"Another time," I said before he could answer. "You are correct, of course."

I could see the utter astonishment in his expression. Those were the last words he ever expected to hear from me.

Raoul sighed. "I do want my daughters to meet your son," he said as though he owed me an explanation. "He's a good boy, an honest young man, and I honor his desire to know my girls. But, you see, Monsieur, I haven't yet…"

He didn't need to finish. His pain was evident, his voice meek, his face pale.

"I feel like a damned coward," he said. His hands clenched into fists. "God knows why I came here, thinking I should confess…to you…to anyone. I don't know what I'll do when I tell my daughters, how I'll react…what they'll think of me." His eyes stayed fixed on the floor and he chuckled without a hint of humor. "And I haven't had a drop of liquor today."

At once he stood up and asked for the water closet. I directed him down the hall but didn't show him the way. The moment he left the room, I heard Julia's voice greeting him. Pinching my eyes shut, I rubbed my temples and wondered what would transpire when he returned to the study.

"How are you holding up?" Julia asked. I could picture her face in my mind, her quiet, soothing expression, her knowing eyes. She was a good person to speak with, as she was a calm and rational individual. "That is what people asked me when my husband passed away."

"Not well," he answered. "I'm afraid not well at all."


	9. A Loving Father

OW9

"The first days are the most difficult," Julia sympathized. The door was cracked open and her voice was muffled, but I knew her well enough to understand her words. "You think of what you could have done differently, you expect any moment that your spouse will return, but…then you realize what has happened. And you realize it again and again."

"You're probably right," Raoul sighed. China clinked together and I knew Julia had set the tray down on the table in the hall.

I considered joining them, but I had nothing to add to the conversation. Lowering my head, I ran my hand along the back of my neck and sighed.

"To be honest with you, Comte, it would be best to tell your daughters tonight or tomorrow."

Raoul made a noise that reminded me of Bessie when she whined. "They've asked me constantly where their mother is and when they may see her. Rather than tell them the truth, I holed them up with their governess and forbade her to show them a periodical of any sort or allow anyone to see them."

"Mmm," Julia said. "You worry that they will learn the circumstances?"

"It's inevitable, isn't it?" he replied.

My insides writhed. He was correct. I had told Alex, yes, but I hadn't told him everything. Sooner or later, he would learn the full truth. Judging by his initial reaction, I doubted it would alter his formed opinion—or lack thereof.

"They will want the truth," Julia said earnestly.

"Bella, I think, will understand." He paused. "The little one? I'm not so sure."

"The little one," Julia cooed. "How sweet. It's good to see men who love their children so openly. I know you will do the right thing. You're an intelligent man, obviously very compassionate and considerate."

The Comte said nothing in return to Julia's words. I felt a slight twist of jealousy that she flattered him so, for which I felt foolish.

"If you will excuse me, Madame Seuratti."

"Of course, Comte. I will be in the study with Erik."

"I would rather you called me Raoul," he said.

My jaw tensed at his insistence for informality. He treated her well. Too well.

Julia entered the study a moment later and placed the tray on the service table. She ran her hand along my shoulder before taking her seat beside me.

"I worry for him," she said softly.

We said nothing more until Raoul de Chagny joined us.

-o-

Once Raoul returned, Julia did the majority of the talking. She, being the most levelheaded and unaffected, took up a pen and dutifully wrote down anything that the Comte said that was of importance.

"The funeral is set for Friday," Raoul said. "It will be a small, private service."

Julia looked from Raoul to me and back again. "Meaning?"

Raoul sighed. "I'm not certain." He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Christine had no family, but there are some who thought of her as their family."

Most of what he said eluded my ears until that point. I stared at him briefly and wondered if he was referring to me.

"Will Alex be invited to attend?" Julia asked. She sat poised with her pen over the paper.

Tapping his fingers together, Raoul frowned. "I think it may be difficult to explain whom he is related to and the circumstances involved with his…presence."

With my attention garnered, I sat far forward. "He is not considered her son?" I asked.

Julia sighed heavily in aggravation. "Erik," she said under her breath.

It wasn't worth a fight, I knew. In all likelihood, Alexandre would not be inclined to attend, unless it promised meeting his half-sisters.

"Of course he is considered her son," Raoul replied swiftly. He ran his hand through his hair and sighed.

"It would be difficult for Alex," Julia reasoned. She looked at me sharply and leaned in closer, her voice low. "He's not yet nine years old. Do you wish him to be thrust into attending a funeral and forced to explain his relationship?"

"It's not out of malice, Monsieur," Raoul added. "I thought it would be for the best. I meant no offense. He's a good child and I would hate to see him placed in an uncomfortable situation."

With a nod, I sat back. "Then where is his place?" I asked.

Raoul shook his head. "I'm afraid I haven't thought that far ahead."

"You've much on your mind," Julia said, her tone remaining gentle. "Tomorrow you will have everything sorted out, I'm sure."

"I will never have anything sorted out again," he said under his breath. "In three days I bury my love. What is there to sort after that?"

Julia and Raoul made small talk for a while longer until the tea was finished. He was just about to leave when he noticed Julia's ring and gave a wan smile.

Raoul offered his congratulations with a shake of my hand and a small peck to Julia's cheek. It was expected and appropriate, but I didn't care for it. He seemed far too friendly toward her.

He apparently noticed that I bristled, as he turned to me and offered a weak smile. "You will be very happy together," he said. His eyes filled with sadness. "It's obvious that you both care a great deal for one another."

"Thank you, Raoul," Julia answered on our behalf.

"When is the wedding, may I ask?"

Julia glanced at me, possibly waiting for me to change my mind. "Six days," she said.

Raoul cleared his throat, his face darkening. "Best of luck to you both."


	10. Loneliness

I thought I posted this. Sorry about the delay. Your reviews are greatly appreciated and I thank all of you who have stayed with me throught two stories and are bravely taking on a third (and probably a fourth...)

Thanks again. It does mean a lot to me!

OW10

Julia remained a while after Raoul had departed for the night. Her daughter was staying with Hermine and Archie for the night, as she and Hermine had plans to beautify themselves. As much as I wanted to pay utmost attention to Julia, I couldn't keep myself from thinking about Christine.

Specifically, I was thinking of her two daughters. Julia noticed my distraction and frowned.

"You are coping much better than you think," she said, placing her hand over mine.

I raised my eyes to her and nodded.

"Far better than Monsieur de Chagny," she said under her breath. She sighed and her shoulders dropped. "That poor man."

"His appearance is a strange occurrence to me," I said, rubbing my hand over my face. His presence still left me on edge, and now that it was only Julia and me in the study, I realized how tightly I had curled my toes in my shoes and had balled my hands into fists beneath the desk.

Julia looked at me, her hazel eyes hinting at words left unspoken. She nodded and glanced at the painting on the wall. "He's having a very difficult time," she offered. "More so than anyone would expect."

I was no fool. He had obviously told her more—confessed or professed. For his sake, it damned well better have not been that he professed anything.

"Why is that?" I asked rather boldly.

Julia gave me an arched look. "You're like a pig rooting around, Erik," she said.

"I'm not rooting around. I'm flat-out asking."

She didn't look at me when she spoke next. "You're the only person in this city that he still knows."

Her words infuriated me, as at first I thought that she mocked me, but when she turned to look me in the eye, I knew she was not jesting.

"That's impossible," I scoffed.

"Not as impossible as you think."

"He is a man of money and authority, Julia. He knows every damned person who owns a title."

Julia didn't argue. She merely shrugged, which grated on my nerves far worse than if she had refuted my words. To add to her irritating ways, she said, "Perhaps you're correct," under her breath.

She made me second guess myself.

"When did he tell you this? The other night?"

My interrogation made her noticeably uncomfortable. "He was in no state to tell me anything at all," she said. She sighed hard. "But yes, that's when he mentioned how important it was to come to you."

There was more hurt in her words than I would have ever imagined. I regretted pushing the issue once I saw that Despite her willingness to offer me comfort, Julia herself wasn't at ease with all the talk about Christine.

I rose and moved to sit beside her.

"This is not a time for jealousy," she said with a wan smile. "I've always known how you felt for her, but I honestly think that you are able to cope with this much better than Raoul."

"Because she was his wife," I said quietly. The misery I expected to follow my words never came, though I still felt a sting of bitterness at the bottom of my heart.

"And you have a child with her. That counts for much," Julia said. She tilted her head to the side. "But I wasn't speaking of marriage or children." Julia held my hand in hers and I could feel her engagement ring against my knuckle. It was all the reminder I needed of whom my heart belonged to.

"Continue," I said, lacing my fingers with hers.

"He told me that everything in their lives was always a struggle from the moment he wanted to marry her to the day she died," Julia said softly.

"I've assumed as much." He had married below his station. Famed soprano or not, she would find little welcome within his aristocratic society.

Julia stared at our joined hands and I did the same. "He's a very lonely man, Erik. His title and status have not assured him a good or easy life."

I blinked at her, unsure of what to say or how to react. He was the last person I ever would have thought suffered. His life meant nothing to me…at least in the past. I wasn't certain how I felt about anymore. There would never be a time when I would call him a friend, as our rivalry had cut a deep, bottomless rift through our lives. What was he, then?

Julia's grip tightened, as though she wished to brace me for what she was about to say. "The last thing he said to me the other night was that there are two kinds of loneliness. The first is when no one is around. There is nothing but one's own thoughts and ability to occupy the hours."

I shuddered and forced myself to nod. Many of my days beneath the opera house had been spent in complete solitude. My sense of time became distorted; spring was suddenly autumn, winter turned to blazing summer and I had no idea how long I remained isolated in my lakeside home. My goods were delivered to me, and other than my necessities being dropped across the lake, I had no need for others. Music, reading, sketching…those were my friends .

"But the other is when you are surrounded by people and yet you feel as alone as ever."

My breath hitched in my throat. The times I remembered with greatest clarity were when I stood in the basement below the stage and listened to rehearsals. Sitting in the theater in my private box gave me a false sense of being a gentleman. My clothes were just as well-tailored as anyone else's in attendance, but the differences between me and the Dukes and Counts were painfully clear each time I sat in Box Five. They could have been picking rags or sweeping chimneys, but they were men able to face the world. What was I but refuse crawling through the shadows? Seeing the world was much different than living in it. The memories made me shiver.

"It's worse," I mumbled. "The second one is worse. Knowing that the world exists around you and that you aren't part of it…there is no other hell quite like it."

Julia nodded. "He's very familiar with the second kind."

I stared at her face. "Are you asking me to pity him?" I snapped.

"You're being quite defensive and that's unnecessary," Julia said. "You wanted to know what he said, did you not?"

She was correct, but I merely shrugged. I had every right to feel defensive, as Raoul de Chagny had gone to her house to speak with her alone. Perhaps to Julia I was overreacting, but in my mind I needed no other reason to resent him. Julia was mine.

Julia placed her hand on my cheek. "You old bear," she chuckled. "You're somewhat charming when you're jealous."

I looked at her and found that her playful words brought a strained smile to my lips. She found comfort in my pretense, as she knew that my heart and soul belonged to her and no other.

"I don't know what to feel for her," I said as I pulled her onto my lap. "Especially after this evening." Bringing her hand to my lips, I kissed her, smelling perfume on her wrist. Sandalwood, the familiar scent of the woman I adored, eased my mind. "Honestly, I doubt I would have been able to care for her."

Julia linked her hands behind my neck. We sat quietly for some time, the sound of our breathing filling the silence. My eyes were drawn to her stomach, and as I placed my hand over her belly, Julia looked at me and smiled. She placed her hand over mine. It would be weeks before we knew anything at all, but suddenly I was hopeful that we would have our families joined, not only with Alex and Lisette.

"I'll walk you home," I suggested.

I wondered what the coming days would bring, but in that moment I felt peace. Julia had chosen me, and for that I was a very fortunate man indeed.

Julia leaned against me as we both stood. "Stay with me," she whispered.


	11. Soothing Evening

A/N: I'd really appreciate your feedback on this chapter. As a warning...high level of sensuality.

OW11

Being with Julia had always calmed me. Her demeanor settled me, her tolerance allowed me the leeway I'd never experienced before, and her sternness reminded me that I was expected to behave like a gentleman.

Julia's house was dark and cool when we entered through her kitchen.

"Have you slept much?" she asked.

I shook my head as I followed her down the hall and up the stairs. It seemed as though my days had been voids in which I did nothing at all but pity myself and pine over Christine. My somber mood was cumbersome, and I didn't know what to do to change my feelings. If there had been a way to force myself to feel differently, I would have gladly done anything it required.

"Your eyes appear very tired," Julia said.

With a grunt, I followed her into her bedroom and crossed my arms while I stood. There was white, gossamer material stretched across the top of her dresser, which had instantly drawn my attention. It was her bridal veil, I realized, and I couldn't take my eyes away from it.

Julia made no comment as I walked to her dresser and lifted the unfinished veil, careful not to disturb her perfume bottles and other womanly possessions.

My mouth went dry merely holding the intricately detailed fabric, as my thumb smoothed over the alabaster pearls and snowy satin. I had never seen a bride before, but this belonged to my bride. My future wife...

Julia sidled up beside me and linked her arm with mine. "It's not finished," she said. "But I will have it done by tomorrow afternoon. The dress, however, I purchased. Lisette is furious, as she was looking forward to sewing with me."

"Alex doesn't have a suit yet," I said. And, neither did I for that matter. There were still five full days before the wedding, but I was growing impatient.

"Shall I take him?" Julia offered.

I shook my head. "I'd rather take him myself."

"Ah, yes, man-to-man," she teased, poking me in the ribs with her elbow.

"Perhaps we'll bring home a wooly mammoth on our trek," I replied dryly.

Julia smiled at me and shook her head. We both turned our attention back to the veil, which was still in my hands. Superstitions came to mind and I dropped it back where I had found it.

"Is something wrong?" Julia asked.

"I shouldn't look at it, should I?" I asked.

With her head against my shoulder, Julia sighed. "I've never believed in those absurdities," she said.

"Neither have I," I replied, but it seemed best not to tempt fate. I turned my eyes away from the veil and hoped I hadn't already cursed our union.

Julia's hand left my forearm as her fingers laced with mine. "Come with me," she said. "I'll draw you a bath and you may relax a while."

"There are other ways we could occupy our time," I said as I kissed the side of her head.

That earned me a swat. "I'm far too tired and you are as well, you stubborn man," she said, tugging on my arm. "Besides," she smiled, "what would Madame Giry say if she knew?"

"I find her meddling highly irritating," I grumbled. "Her days would be better spent worrying for herself than fretting over my evening activities."

Julia filled the bath and stood outside the door while I undressed.

"How long has it been since she was married?" Julia asked.

Far too long, I thought. "Since Meg was a child. Twenty years, perhaps," I answered.

I stirred the steaming water with my hand and sucked in a breath as I dared to enter. The humid air filled my lungs as I gingerly sank into the tub. In that moment of pleasure and pain, I slowly began to forget about Christine. Julia's house was a familiar sanctuary that lightened my mood. Her company was the best elixir I had ever discovered.

"Is she happy, do you think?"

"She appears happy," I answered. Honestly, I had no idea if she was happy or not. She'd never said a word to me, though now that Julia asked I wasn't so sure if I had answered correctly. "Why?" I questioned.

The door cracked open. Julia stood with her back to me, as though she were innocent and unwilling to see a naked man in her tub. A prude indeed, I thought.

"I've never heard her speak of…a companion."

"She takes joy in Meg, Charles, and Alex," I said. "It isn't in her heart to entertain a man. She'd rather sew and harass me."

"Yes…"

Bathing while discussing Madeline was in no way relaxing. Twisting, I stared at Julia's back and knew her mind was working, planning all sorts of ideas and situations I wanted nothing to do with. I had a terrible feeling that whether I liked it or not, she would include plans for me as well.

"Why are you standing there?" I asked, changing the subject.

"I want to speak with you," she replied.

"Then come inside," I suggested.

She shook her head. "I'm fine where I am."

But I wasn't. My original thought that I was far too exhausted for pleasures of the flesh were slowly being proved wrong as I sat and studied Julia.

"Where is the soap?" I asked, staring directly at it.

"By the towels," she answered.

My mind was working as well. "Would you bring them to me, Julia?"

When she turned to face me she was grinning. "They're both within your reach."

The chase was always as much fun as the reward, and the longer I was with Julia the more I enjoyed her challenges. Leaning over the tub, I pushed the towels and soap from my reach.

"What in the world are you doing?" she asked, turning to face me. She had caught me in my moment of deviance.

"Antagonizing you," I replied.

She looked at me in total disbelief, and for a moment I thought she was angry with me. With a heavy sigh, Julia marched toward me and snatched up both the towel and washcloth.

"Why?" she asked. Her eyes betrayed her stern expression.

"Because in six days you will need to grow accustomed to honoring and obeying," I said, clearing my throat and straightening my expression.

Julia laughed louder than I had ever heard her laugh before. She knelt beside the tub and shook her head as she wet the washcloth. Reaching for the soap, she murmured that she had brought this all upon herself.

"I suppose you expect me to cook your meals and bathe you nightly?"

"Cook my meals and I shall bathe you," I answered.

She laughed again, effectively ignoring my seductive attempts. Composing herself, she grabbed a stool and sat beside the tub, her hands soapy. She showed me a silver pitcher on the floor before turning and removing her engagement ring.

"Yes, Madame?" I said when she didn't proceed.

Without a word, she sat forward and reached for my head. Alarm caused my legs to stretch out and I leaned away from her. Still, she said nothing. It became my choice to remove the hairpiece.

My eyes darted around the small room. Under my breath, I jested that I preferred my original idea of having her in the tub for my enjoyment, but she seemed to find no humor in my nervous words. A wan smile touched her lips, reassuring but unobtrusive. Julia left the choice as mine, and as I felt steam rising from the water, I wondered what my answer would mean to her.

Hands trembling, I turned away from her and gently set my hairpiece on a towel, which Julia offered me. Sitting back, I attempted to steady my racing heart. She'd seen me without it before, I reasoned.

Gently, her hand touched my forehead and tilted my head back.

"Close your eyes," she whispered.

ImmediatelyI closed my eyes.

"And breathe," Julia reminded me.

Hot water cascaded down my scalp and I inhaled sharply in surprise. My eyes closed tighter, my breath catching in my throat. I held the sides of the tub in a knuckle-white grip that Julia noticed. She placed her hand over mine briefly and smoothed her fingers over my knuckles.

With my hair wet, she worked the soap into a lather and massaged her fingers through my thin hair and down to the nape of my neck. Swallowing hard, I peered at her before water dripped down my face and forced my eyes closed again.

Her touch was soothing and perfect, and after several seconds I relaxed and felt myself sinking lower into the water. No one had ever done anything like this for me and I could imagine little else that was so intimate and pleasurable. A shiver ran up my spine as I imagined experiencing this again—or doing this for Julia, if she would allow it.

Julia placed her hand against my forehead again before she poured water over my head and rinsed my hair clean. She patted my face with a towel and then handed it to me, and when I opened my eyes, she sat back and dried her hands. Once finished, she replaced her ring and smiled at the sight of it. For that moment we were the only two people who existed in the world.

"You may finish up on your own, Erik," she said as she rose to her feet.

Catching her wrist, I stopped her before she left. I studied her hand and the ring on her long fingers.

"I was not alive before you," I said as I brought her hand to my lips.

"Nor was I," she answered before she squeezed my fingers and walked out, closing the door behind her.


	12. Intertwined

Warning for non-graphic sexuality.

OW12

With my hair now dry, I stared at my reflection in the mirror, which I hadn't done in a long time. It was normally too uncomfortable to meet my own gaze, as I childishly expected that one day the beast staring back at me would be human, that the ruined side would eventually fall away and both halves of my face would be equal and handsome.

Nothing had changed, yet there was a difference that I noticed immediately. The deep creases around my mouth no longer existed, as I was no longer holding a frown. And my eyes were different as well. The dread was missing. Happiness—once so foreign to me—was at last visible as I stood in Julia's home.

Once I wrapped a towel around my hips, I walked into the hall and heard Julia's voice from her bedroom. There was nothing I wanted to hear more than her words.

"I have clothes for you," she announced. "I do hope you're presentable."

She turned and jumped in surprise when she found me in the doorway.

"Presentable?"

"How do you manage to walk without making a sound?" Her face was slightly flushed, the crimson in her cheeks deepening as her eyes traveled from my face to the towel, where what I desired was more obvious than she expected.

Julia found amusement in this and ran her hands over her hair. "Perhaps these go unneeded," she said as she showed me my night clothes. The striped burgundy trousers and matching shirt were neatly folded on the end of her bed.

"Did you make them?" I asked as I stood beside her.

"Yes, but I hate working with silk," she replied.

With a grunt, I ran my finger over the shirt's buttons and along the collar. The workmanship appeared fine, the details perfect and I wondered how long she had spent sewing these for me.

"It took a week and a half," she said before I questioned. "I was going to give them to you as a gift."

"A gift?" I asked as I looked at her.

"For our honeymoon."

Her words made me realize what an ignorant man I was, as I had no gift for her. Not once since we were engaged to be married had I even considered a gift for Julia, something to show her how much I loved her and cherished her.

"You don't like them?" Julia asked. She started to take the clothes from my grasp, a frown set deep in her face. Why she always attempted to please me I had no idea, but I didn't want her to think I was disappointed.

"They're unexpected," I answered.

"I should have waited," she said solemnly. "I've ruined the surprise."

"There is nothing I need from you," I said as I placed the clothes she made for me on the bed and wrapped my arms around her. "You've given me everything already."

She kissed me, and once her body was pressed to mine I felt her smile against my lips. The evidence of my desire was clearer than ever.

"Perhaps not everything," she chuckled as I ran my hands up and down her back. "And I honestly thought you would be tired and contented after your bath."

"You do things to me," I murmured, inhaling the scent of her sandalwood perfume. "Terrible, wicked things, Julia, that I never want to see come to an end," I breathed against her neck. She sighed, her fingers tugging at my towel while I unbuttoned her sleeping gown and felt her warm body pressed against mine. "You offer me more than I've ever deserved, but I want nothing more than to have you for the rest of my life. My sweet, beautiful Julia."

She looked at me then, one hand against my cheek. "I'm not mocking you when I say that you are more handsome than any man I've ever known," she whispered.

I exhaled and looked away, not knowing how to react to her words. "No, I'm not. I know I'm not."

Her thumb pressed to my lips and kept me silent. "A handsome face eventually wrinkles," she said.

I ran my finger along her neck. "You may desire to hit me for this, but I rather enjoy the lines around your eyes."

Julia smiled, but I knew she was being serious. I wondered what had made her so somber.

Pulling her hand away from my cheek, I held her gaze. "I cared a great deal for you before I saw your face," I said quietly. "When I heard your voice in the back garden…the way you addressed my son, the way you spoke to your daughter, to Meg and Madeline..." I shook my head, feeling foolish. "I don't know," I finished.

"You understand what I mean, then?"

I did and I nodded. While I continued to pine over Christine all those years, I had ignored my true feelings for Julia. Long before I saw her face I had started to fall in love with her timid laugh and her melodic voice. At night I wanted to see her through her opened window, to catch a glimpse of the silhouette busy with her household. I knew Julia in an untraditional way, but it was a manner in which I felt bound to her.

For a long while I held her close, savoring the heat of her body. Silence turned to mutual comfort in the dim lamplight, the tenderness between us needing no words. Glancing up, I saw our bodies in the mirror, tangled, obscured by shadows. From her full-length mirror I studied the curve of her beautiful form, the masterful slope from her shoulders to the small of her back. She deserved to be etched in charcoal, living forever in art. If I were not such a jealous man, I would have sketched her myself, but this treasure belonged to me and no other. Greedily, I kissed her lips and claimed her in my arms, hands exploring what I had admired in the mirror. Each stroke elicited a sigh, and as I swept my hand through her hair and tilted her head back, I felt her hips press to mine. Her knees bent as I ran my tongue and lips along her throat, tasting the sweet warmth of her soft flesh.

We were gentle with one another. Holding, kissing, caressing until we could barely breathe.

Brushing her hair back, I guided her onto her bed and ran my hand from her knee to her hip, feeling her shiver with anticipation. Eyes closed, her head tossed from side to side, her need for me building.

As I kissed the side of her neck, I turned her to face away from me and wrapped my arms around her until we lay like two spoons against one another. Kissing her shoulder, I felt her legs curl up, her breaths coming quicker as I nuzzled the back of her neck and fondled her breasts. Whispering my love for her, I entered her and she answered me with a soft sigh and her hand reaching back to rest against my cheek.

With my arms around her, I felt powerful and protective, as though nothing would happen to Julia as long as I held her. Smelling her hair and feeling her soft skin, I knew it was possible that she carried my child—or that after this night she could very well give me another son or a daughter.

As I filled her, she reached for my wrist and guided me to where she needed me most and I willingly obeyed, my every touch rewarded by the sounds she made only for me. Her body contracted, and when I could hold back no longer, I embraced her tightly and buried my face in her hair, relief coming at last.

Long after we were both satisfied, I clung to her, my eyes half-opened, the rhythm of our breathing in perfect time. It seemed as though the nights when we would permanently share a bed were too far away. I could not imagine spending another evening alone, without her body to warm mine.

Turning her to face me, I cradled her face in my hands and kissed her full on the lips.

"I don't want to wait," I murmured in her ear. "I want to marry you now."


	13. Phoenix from the Ashes

OW13

My request hung in the air. Julia rolled onto her stomach and ran her fingers along my chest, her eyes fixed on her ring.

She made no immediate reply, which concerned me. Though the expression on her face was placid, I feared she would reconsider. I would not be sated until our vows were spoken and I could call her my wife.

"Julia, answer me," I said, my attempt at being demanding emerged as more of a plea.

"Erik, we have nothing prepared," she said.

"What do we need to prepare?" I countered as I sat up. "Tomorrow morning we'll gather everyone and tell them we've decided to marry right then."

Julia shook her head and kissed my chest, attempting to calm me. "You're getting ahead of yourself."

My heart began to thump louder, faster than before. She didn't understand the urgency I felt, the great need I had building in my chest, the aching and dread in my heart that this was merely a dream and I was on the verge of waking.

"I am not getting ahead of myself. I want to marry you," I said firmly.

Turning onto her side, Julia laced her fingers with mine. "And I want to marry you once I have my dress and my veil, Lisette's dress, Alex's suit…your suit. Erik, for goodness sake, what has come over you? We agreed on the date."

I didn't understand why she couldn't see my reasoning. Now was the time. There had never been a better time as far as I was concerned and I didn't want to see the moment slip away.

"I would get down on my knees right now and marry you this instant," I said, my grip on her hand tightening.

Smiling, Julia kissed my cheek and nibbled on my earlobe. "I do hope you would put a pair of pants on first, my love," she teased as her hand disappeared beneath the bed sheet, a devilish smile playing on her lips.

"What has come over me, indeed, Madame. Dare I return the question?"

Climbing onto her knees, Julia wrapped her arms around my neck and sighed. "Does the funeral concern you?" she asked. Her grip loosened slightly and she looked me in the eye. "I mean to say, is that why you want to move the wedding to tomorrow instead?"

Her words made me defensive. "I want to marry you because I'm in love with you and I don't want to wait." My harsh tone didn't match my words and I frowned. "If you're…if it's possible that our times together have resulted in…possibilities…"

Julia giggled. I scowled in return.

Rolling her eyes, Julia continued to smile. "If our affection for one another has resulted in a child," she said. "Isn't that what you mean?"

"If you wish to be so crude."

She snorted, obviously enjoying my discomfort. "Oh, you are surly this evening. I apologize for interrupting your dissertation on possibilities and…I beg your pardon, was there something else as well?"

"No," I answered sourly.

"Honestly, no one will be any wiser if we wait three days to marry or another week." Julia's expression softened once she looked me in the eye again. "What has troubled you? I thought this was going to be a pleasant evening for both of us."

"It was…it is. I merely…"

She tilted her chin down and waited for me to continue.

Unbidden, the words escaped from my mouth. "I want to forget everything that happened before I met you."

Julia looked away and nodded. "You're referring to Christine."

Even in death Christine threatened my happiness, my opportunity to be whole. I was appalled at my thoughts, but the bitterness I felt toward her refused to wane. Above all else, it wasn't fair to Julia and I knew it. Despite all of her understanding, I saw the expression on Julia's face which betrayed her stoic appearance. She tired of hearing that name and now, so did I.

"Not only Christine," I said quietly, but I knew Julia wouldn't believe me. There was little else I had ever discussed willingly, save for Christine.

By marrying Julia promptly, I expected that my former life would disappear and like a phoenix I would rise from the ashes and be born again.

It wasn't going to be that simple. Perhaps the ashes would never form what I hoped.

Julia yawned, and though I suspected it wasn't genuine, I didn't protest. My arm hung loosely over her shoulder, unsure of whether or not we were having an argument or merely a discussion. It felt uncomfortable enough to be deemed a disagreement.

* * *

Since this was a short chapter I will update again probably tomorrow evening.

Another note: Those of you reading Paladin and Rose with Thorns are already aware that MadLizzy and HD are writing a story called Gypsy Heart of Darkness that is a parody of Erik Kire's life and times. We don't know for sure but it might be the very first fan fic based off a fan fic. Whether it is or not, it's raunchy and fun. Please check it out. They're writing under the name HDKingsbury and have also written a sequel.


	14. At Odds

OW14

I remained at Julia's home long enough to enjoy a small breakfast with her. Since Ruby would insist that I ate once I returned home, I enjoyed a simple biscuit with orange jam Julia had made from the last of the oranges Archie had given her. With breakfast done, I made one last attempt to escort her upstairs but Julia merely shook her head.

"Lisette will be home soon," she said. I wondered what would become of our intimate relationship once we had both of our children at home.

With our plates in the sink, Julia shooed me out the back door.

"I have too many chores to finish and not nearly enough hours," she said as she sent me on my way, removing my hand from her waist with a grin.

"May I come for lunch?" I asked.

She smiled and shook her head. "Only if you cook and set the table."

"Ruby will make lunch," I shrugged. Inwardly I smiled, having made her an offer she could not deny.

"We'll see," she said before she pecked me on the cheek. "If nothing else, it would be a pleasure to have both you and Alex to supper."

Dinner plans were on my mind when I returned home through the back door and was immediately accosted by Madeline. She scoffed the moment she saw me, but only managed to mutter her disapproval under her breath.

"I beg your pardon?" I grumbled. Ruby walked in, heard the tone of my voice, and promptly turned to leave.

"I didn't say a word," Madeline said innocently.

"Madeline," I growled through my teeth. "If you wish to speak, then speak."

"Your lack of self-control disappoints me," she said with a shrug. "However, you already know this, but you wish to ignore my words. Therefore I will not waste my breath and inform you again. You do, after all, have your priorities."

"Irritating old woman," I mumbled as I walked out of the kitchen. Halfway down the hall I was met with the crack of a door slamming. The sound made me stop in my tracks, and Madeline ran into my back causing me to stumble.

"May I ask what you are doing?" I bristled, running my hands down my arms in order to straighten my sleeves.

Madeline brushed past me. "If you had bothered to stay home you would know," she snapped before hobbling down the hall.

Forced to follow her, I grit my teeth and stomped down the hall, turning the corner along with her toward the bedrooms. Meg was standing outside of Alex's door with one hand on her hip.

"Young man, you come out here at once!" Meg warned. "You know your father will not tolerate…" She paused when she saw Madeline and backed away when she saw me directly behind her mother.

"Go away!" Alex shouted.

"Alexandre!" Madeline called back. She thumped the handle of her cane on the door.

"Why is he in his room?" I asked.

Madeline ignored me and Meg chose not to answer. She glanced at me and then at the library door, which was slightly ajar.

"Where is Charles?"

"Alexandre, do you hear that your father is home now?" Madeline said over my words.

"Where is Charles?" I asked again.

Meg gave another glance toward the library door, which I took to mean that Charles was still in the room where he normally gave Alex his lessons. Preoccupied with Alex, Madeline said nothing as I pushed the library door open.

"Monsieur—" Meg started. She looked at me and then at her hand on my arm. "Alex didn't mean it."

Her hand fell away and I walked through the library door to find Charles with his handkerchief covering his eye. He cleared his throat when he saw me and turned away.

"Good morning," he said, forcing politeness. "How are you, Monsieur?"

"I'm not sure," I answered. "Why is Alex in his room?"

Charles didn't offer a reply.

"Monsieur Lowry—"

At last Charles turned to face me and I saw the mark below his eye where the skin was broken and bruised. It wasn't terrible, but it was much too close to his eye.

"It was an accident," Charles said sternly.

"What was an accident?" My anger rose along the back of my neck. "Did Alexandre do this?"

Charles looked away, his lips straight and his brow furrowed. "He meant no harm."

"What did he do?"

"He threw a book," Charles answered as he pressed the palm of his hand to his forehead. "It was meant to hit the wall, really."

My rage was sudden, unexpected. Alexandre had often frustrated me, but I had never felt that angry with him before. Never in his life—aside, of course, from the incident with the vicomte—had he ever attempted to injure anyone.

"He will be fortunate if he himself doesn't hit the wall," I said under my breath.

I turned to leave, but Charles called my name.

"It was my fault, Monsieur."

Without another word, I turned again and walked out of the library and directly to Alexandre's door.

"You will unlock this door immediately," I bellowed.

"No!" Alex shouted.

"Alexandre!"

"Leave me alone!"

Madeline said a prayer under her breath. For Alex's sake, he had better have hoped someone heard her.

My hand slammed into his door and, as Madeline dramatically informed me, shook the entire damn house.

"Your father will destroy this place!" Madeline howled. Behind her, Bessie sidled up and gave a low raff of disapproval.

"He will not!" Alexandre yelled from his bedroom.

"Lest you wish to find out, I suggest you open this door at once!" I shouted.

"You should have taken a switch to him long ago," Madeline said as she crossed her arms.

"Mother," Meg bravely warned. It surprised me that she was still near. Normally she would have taken flight and hidden somewhere.

"Alexandre Jean Kire!" Madeline announced. "Listen to your father!"

"I don't want to see you," Alexandre protested.

As though she understood, Bessie lifted her head and howled before trotting away to the kitchen, following the smell of Ruby's cooking.

"You most certainly do not want to see me with a mouth as vile as yours, young man," Madeline said, practically pushing me aside so she could pound on the door with her cane.

"Madame," I grumbled.

She caught my glare and respectfully stepped away, though she was furious with Alexandre. Pointing the tip of her cane at me, Madeline narrowed her eyes. "This is your doing," she scowled before hobbling away, grabbing Meg to draw her away from the door.

Meg gave me a hopeless frown as they both turned the corner and the last I heard from them was Meg saying that it wasn't my fault.

"Of course it's Erik's fault," Madeline said, still incensed. "It's his son."

-o-

My pleasant morning was ruined. With my hand against my forehead, I stared at the door and weighed my options. The surest way to reach Alex was to break down his bedroom door, which I was capable of doing. However, that also meant I would have to repair it. I could wait for him to open the door, but being a man of little patience, this didn't seem viable.

"Are you still there, Father?" Alexandre called.

"Yes," I said as I leaned against the wall.

"Would you leave?" he asked.

"No," I replied.

"But I need to…" he cleared his throat.

"Cross your legs and suffer or come out at once," I said.

While I waited in the hall I heard him stomping on the floor. At last he opened the door and Aria flew out, her feet slipping on the floor as she skittered into the kitchen. She and Bessie greeted one another with an unseen tussle.

Alex peeked out and frowned at me. Without a word, he lowered his eyes and attempted to brush past me, but I caught his arm and pulled him back.

"You have much to explain," I said through my teeth.

"No, I don't."

I never thought that Alex could make me so angry, but as I held him by the arm, I found it would be very easy to lead him back to his bedroom and swat him. Instead, I grabbed his chin and forced him to look me in the eye.

"You do not disobey the adults in this household," I seethed. "To do so is a very dangerous practice, one which I will not allow you to make into a habit. Is that understood?"

He flinched at my tone but didn't speak.

"You have precisely three seconds before I treat you in the manner Madeline sees fit."

Alex's lip quivered, his eyes meeting mine before he trained them on the floor.

"I understand," he said.

Releasing his arm, I held back my anger and told him I would be waiting for him in his room. With not so much as a glance in my direction, he walked to the end of the hall and slammed the water closet door.


	15. Child, Not Angel

OW15

Alex dawdled for as long as he could, most likely assuming that the longer he took the more time I would have for my anger to subside. It bothered me immensely that his childhood was fading before my eyes, that his innocence and carefree ways were threatened by a world I could not keep at bay. What in the hell had come over my son? I had been gone for an evening. Most certainly one night was not enough to turn him into a derelict, despite what Madeline believed.

"He's going to kill me," I muttered to myself as I tilted my head back and took a breath. Not old age and not Julia, which I thought were viable causes of death, but Alexandre. My gregarious, passionate son was behaving like a nightmare.

While I waited for him to return, Meg appeared in the hallway and glanced in Alex's room. She appeared startled when she found me sitting on the corner of Alex's desk, but rather than pretend to be looking for something or ignoring me, she knocked on the doorframe.

"Yes?"

"Are you preoccupied?" she whispered, evidently sneaking away from her mother's watchful eye. She placed her hand over her stomach and grimaced slightly, a result of her condition I surmised.

For a moment I stared at her and then glanced around the empty room. "Preoccupied?" I questioned.

She exhaled and wrung her hands. "He wasn't himself when he came to breakfast," Meg whispered. She entered Alex's room and closed the door half way.

I didn't give a damn who he was when he came down to breakfast, which I expressed to Meg in so many words. "Regardless, I will not tolerate his behavior. It's utterly inexcusable and he's quite fortunate I didn't pull him from his rabbit's hole and wring his neck."

Her expression was unreadable, though I assume she found my words ironic given my previous behavior.

"You're correct," she said at last as she bowed her head.

I crossed my arms and studied her, knowing that there was more to be said. There were many times when I thought that Madeline and Meg complimented one another. Sometimes when I heard them down the hall they spoke so similar that it took me a moment to realize who was speaking. However, when it came to moments such as these they were clearly different people. Madeline would not have allowed a moment of silence. Meg preferred to draw out her agony and my own by keeping me guessing.

I suppose they had aggravation in common, and this day was becoming most irritating. I shouldn't have left Julia's home. Or perhaps I shouldn't have left her bed.

"You don't think he deserves to be punished?"

"I didn't say that," Meg replied under her breath. She sucked in a breath and rubbed her side.

"Sit," I commanded.

"No, no, Mother will wonder where I am."

"You don't live in a museum. I said sit," I muttered.

She finally relented and managed to seat herself in Alex's desk chair. With a sigh of relief, she looked at me and half-smiled. "Thank you."

I gave a curt nod before I rose and gazed down the hall to see that the water closet door was still closed and imagined Alex sitting on the floor with his arms crossed as he awaited his verbal execution.

"What happened at the breakfast table?" I asked without turning to face Meg. My head was beginning to ache now that my initial anger had ebbed.

It took her a moment to answer. "It's in the paper now," she answered.

I whipped around but Meg didn't look up. She studied her hands, her lips pursed tightly like a scolded child peering from behind a woman's body.

"About…her?"

She nodded.

"And he saw it?"

Meg began to fidget. "He brought the paper for you to read and Mother found him with it in the study before breakfast. He didn't say a word about it at the table. Really, he didn't say anything at all…and you know Alexandre."

"Then what happened?"

Meg exhaled. "I was in the study writing a letter, Mother was in the kitchen with Ruby…" She saw me motion for her to make haste, as I had little interest in the location of everyone in the damn house. "The door was open and I heard Charles questioned Alex at the start of their lessons."

"Question him how?" I asked, my eyes narrowed.

"I didn't hear much of the conversation."

"Madame Lowry," I warned.

"Charles merely asked if he wished to talk about it and Alex refused. The last I heard was Charles telling him that death is a natural part of life," Meg blurted out. "That was all I heard. Really, I was attempting to write a letter, not eavesdrop."

"And then he threw a book at Charles?"

"He said he was aiming for the wall," Meg continued to defend Alex much like an older sister. She must have feared that I would punish him severely.

"Where is the paper?" I asked. I was torn between wanting to confront Alex and wanting to know what the headline stated. For the moment the paper seemed a much greater priority, as I needed to know what it described—specifically the manner of Christine's death. Just as Raoul de Chagny didn't want his daughters to know that their mother had taken her own life, I didn't want Alex knowing that the woman he had known virtually nothing about had slit her wrists.

My emotions were torn between feeling riddled with guilt for yelling at Alexandre and then justified for my words, as I still knew he had done wrong in throwing anything at Charles.

Death. Alex would be nine years old in a few months. Though I often thought of him as a mature young man, the ways in which he had acted were juvenile. But now there was no turning back, no way to avoid what needed to be discussed. Whether I liked it or not, Alex had grown up in the last few days and I had failed to see it.

What hurt more than his actions were my actions, my missteps and failures. I had not been his father. I had been blind to his suffering. And now I expected we would both pay heavily.

"I need the paper," I said when Meg didn't answer. "Where is it?"

Meg shook her head. "As far as I am aware, it's still in the study."

My jaw tightened. "Did you read the article?"

"Not all of it."

My patience with Meg waned and I exhaled through my teeth. "What did you read?"

"The same words as your son. His mother is dead. He's merely a child, he's only—"

"Yes, I realize that," I snapped.

"I apologize," Meg said under her breath.

"As do I," I muttered.

"He's not a bad child," Meg said. "But he's not an angel."

I stood in the doorway with my back to Meg and realized the absolution Alex had found in the printed page. It was no longer merely his father's words. The ink made it real, irreversible.

Meg labored to stand and I moved aside so that she could pass. She glanced down the hall and then back at me.

"He wasn't upset with Charles," she said before she waddled down the hall.

Where had the days gone when the only answers my son sought concerned the formations of clouds and Egyptian civilization? I was prepared for feeding him the answers I discovered in my reading and on my past journeys. I was not, however, prepared to confront him with the topic of death.

Forcing myself down the hall, I knocked on the watercloset door and Alex sullenly opened the door several seconds later.

"Come with me," I said.

Head hanging, he followed me down the hall and upstairs where I locked my bedroom door and motioned for him to sit either in the armchair or on my bed. Wary of my anger, he chose the chair.

We sat in silence for a while as I considered what I should say to him and how I should punish his appalling behavior. Madeline's words ran through the back of my mind, as I knew precisely what she would instruct if Alex's fate were in her hands.

Despite my anger I could not strike him, much as he deserved a good swat for throwing a book at Charles. It would do no good to punish him yet, not until we were both certain of the cause.

"Do you realize how close you came to hitting Monsieur Lowry in the eye?" I asked.

He nodded.

"Answer me. I'll have no more silence from you. And watch your words, Alexandre. I have little patience for you today."

"Yes, I do, sir," he mumbled.

"I beg your pardon?"

He didn't look at me, but he repeated his words.

"And what did Monsieur Lowry say when you struck him _directly_ in the face with a book?"

Alex took a deep, ragged breath but didn't answer. I watched him from the corner of my eye, carefully gauging my words against his actions. The only punishment I had ever known was a heavy hand, one which never stopped at first blood. As much as I wanted to scream at him and ask what in the hell he was thinking, I knew I couldn't shout at him. His shame was clear on his face, his regrets molded into the contour of his lips set in a frown and his eyes trained on the floor.

"Shall I ask Monsieur Lowry?"

"He apologized to me," Alex said at last.

"Why would he do such a thing?"

Before another word was said, Alex started to cry.


	16. Scurrilous

OW16

I didn't know what to do as I sat and watched Alex doubled over in the armchair with his arms tightly wrapped around his stomach.

Alex was normally a docile child, one who had never been prone to outbursts. Madeline had often referred to him as an ungodlyspoiled boy, mostly when I was not present. I was sure she was most likely in the kitchen muttering to herself that I should have boxed his ears long ago to prevent such scurrilous behavior now.

However, this was not an outburst coming from a privileged child demanding sweets or presents. He learned at an early age that he could not manipulate Madeline and that I would not relent to his whining (he usually sought out Meg). Being a child he naturally made his attempts, but this was not a fraudulent act.

His need was substantial, and I was torn between immediately coddling him or sternly standing my ground, as he was still in a great deal of trouble.

As a child I had rarely cried. It had done little good to express grief since there was no one to listen. Seeing Alex so upset reminded me of my loneliness, of the feelings I had never wanted him to experience. From the moment I first held him I swore I would not allow my son to experience the life I had lived. He was everything to me. He would always be everything to me.

"You'll make yourself sick," I said once he started to settle down.

He hid his face in his hands and struggled to catch his breath. Turning away from me, he rested his elbows on the armrest and hiccupped.

"Alexandre, where is today's paper?" I questioned.

Still too upset to offer an answer, he pointed toward the bedroom door, which merely told me that I wouldn't find it in my room. I waited several moments until his sobs and hiccups had diminished to ragged breaths.

"Alex," I started.

"Am I an orphan, Father?" Alex tearfully questioned. He looked at me for the first time, his eyes red and complexion mottled. His curly hair was mussed, his clothes disheveled. I felt quite sorry for him…and quite selfishly sorry for myself.

"No, you're not an orphan," I answered. "Who told you such a thing?"

"No one," he answered. He rubbed his tears away and bit his quivering lip.

"Then why would you ask?" Surely someone had planted the idea in his mind. Charles, perhaps? I wondered. It was possible that Charles had spoken and Alex hadn't understood what he meant.

"The paper," he said as cried harder.

That damned paper! What had Alex read that convinced him he was an orphan? Surely the Comte had not mentioned Alex in Christine's obituary. It was possible that her death had become a sensational scandal in the paper, though I had my doubts that anyone knew of her first child. If anyone did know of my son I had no doubt that some mongrel from the Epoch would be traveling door to door in search of scandal.

"Where is the paper?" I asked firmly.

He started to point at the door again and I rose to my feet. "Show me."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"Monsieur Lowry put it in his room," Alex wept.

It didn't bode well with me that Alex had decided to call his teacher Monsieur Lowry rather than Uncle Charles, as he normally did.

"You've been in that room plenty of times. Did Charles forbid you to enter now?" I asked.

Alex shook his head.

He was grating on my nerves. "Alexandre," I warned.

"He'll be very cross with me," Alex stammered.

"Yes, I suspect you are correct. Charles is justified in being very cross with you. I am quite upset with you as well."

He nodded and looked away. Wisely I chose not to pursue the subject, as Alex needed no further confirmation that I was disappointed in him.

"Why, Alex?" I sighed. "What could possibly have possessed you?"

Alex started to shake his head.

"There is an answer," I argued. "You must tell me."

"I don't want to talk about it," he said under his breath.

Alex was always allowed many liberties. He spoke freely to me, more so than most children were allowed when they addressed their parents. In the past months our relationship had changed, improved. His unwillingness to speak to me now rekindled my anger.

"It doesn't matter what you want, Alex!" I snapped.

"Are you certain I was her son?" he asked.

His question caught me off guard and I blinked at him. I knew my part in his conception but I had never witnessed her condition. The idea that he wasn't her son was ridiculous and I shook my head, having no desire to debate with him as to who had given him birth.

"She brought you to me, Alex," I replied.

"But she didn't want me?"

"She wanted me to have you," I said, hoping to quell his emotions.

Alex gave me a questioning look but didn't say a word.

"May I ask why this concerns you?" I attempted to be as civil and understanding as possible, but his words had left me anxious.

"I'm not in the paper," he mumbled.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm not listed as her son. Perhaps I'm not her son. Was there another woman who may have dug me up?"

My eyes narrowed. "Dug you up?"

He was frustrated with me and kicked his feet against the chair. "The place where the babies come from. Father, surely you know of it! Grand-mere said it was where I was selected. The field! The field of babies!"

"Oh," I cleared my throat. "I had forgotten." I wondered what he thought of Meg and her condition. Perhaps he suspected she was filled with dirt.

"Perhaps another woman selected me and gave me to her," he said.

He hardly believed his own words, though I suspected it was far less painful to believe that he had been delivered by someone else rather than not wanted at all. My heart broke for him. No matter what I said to him I had a feeling it would not be enough.

With a deep breath, I rose to my feet. "Come with me, Alex."

Head lowered, he followed.


	17. Intentional

There were some problems at the end of the chapter during the upload, which I ended up just taking out. Sorry about the words running together.

OW17

It wasn't even ten in the morning and damned if I didn't feel as though I'd been awake for days. I wondered how Charles was feeling and whether or not the bruise below his eye had grown worse since I'd last seen him.

"Pick up your feet," I grumbled over my shoulder as Alex dragged himself along. He made no reply. The only indication I received that he was listening was his head sinking a little lower.

Charles was in his room with Meg when I knocked on their bedroom door. Meg answered, holding a piece of gauze in her hand that was stained pink, which I assumed was from her husband's wound.

"Is Alex…?" she started, her voice trailing away when she saw him standing at the end of the hall.

"I believe your husband has my morning paper," I said when she made no attempt to continue.

Meg blushed and turned away to fetch the paper, leaving the door open. "Yes, of course. I apologize for not bringing it to you, but your door was closed." She paused and frowned. Her face appeared fuller than I remembered, her complexion quite ruddy.

"My door is always closed," I replied.

"Yes, I suppose so. Won't you come in?" she asked.

In all the years that Charles and Meg had shared my house, their room was one I had never entered. Partly out of disinterest and partly in respect for their privacy, I had never bothered to seek the company of either of them if their door was closed. It felt oddly personal and intrusive to walk into their world, and as Meg moved toward Charles, I remained in the hall and surveyed their bedroom from the threshold.

There was nothing out of the ordinary or noteworthy about their living space. It was much like my own, save for light blue curtains and fresh flowers by the bed. Overall, I thought it suited Meg. Charles, most likely,tolerated it at best.

Meg turned when I didn't enter and repeated her invitation, which I reluctantly accepted. A glance over my shoulder at Alex told him that he should do the same.

"Charles," I said as I entered.

He was holding a rag over his eye but nodded just the same. His attention swiftly left me and fell on Alex, who was hiding behind me. As I glanced to see what he was doing I couldn't help but notice that he looked more childlike than ever. Strange, I thought, that on a day when he was forced to grow up the most he appeared younger and more fragile in my eyes.

Meg cleared her throat and brushed the paper off, garnering my attention as she handed it to me. Her attempt at distracting Charles from studying Alex and my son from cowering in the doorway were unsuccessful.

"How are you feeling, Charles?" I asked as I glanced at the paper.

"Very well," he answered.

"And your eye?"

He frowned and lowered his gaze. "I have no doubt that it will heal."

"Alex tells me you apologized to him in the library," I said, switching my gaze from Charles to Alex, who appeared ready to sink into the floor.

His face had gone white, his lips drawn into a thin line. All of my life I had shielded and protected him, but if only for one moment I wanted him to know the shame in his wrongdoing. I knew by his expression that he was more ashamed of himself than I could ever make him feel.

"I did, sir," Charles warily answered.

"May I ask why you offered an apology?"

Charles continued to watch Alex as he tightly laced his fingers together. After a brief moment he looked me dead in the eye. "Because I felt it was necessary," he answered.

Whatever had transpired between the two of them was not to be my business. Charles' gaze lacked assertion, but I knew he would not continue his explanation for Alex's sake. With a sigh, I decided not to pursue the incident a moment longer. There was one last necessity. I gave Alex a hard stare. It was to be his only warning. He decided to slump his shoulders and ignore my wordless command.

"Alex, quit hiding behind me and speak directly to your Uncle. Man to man," I snapped.

The sound of my voice made him jump. Meg gasped and placed her hand over her heart, startled by my outburst. I looked at her briefly, thinking that it would be quite fortunate if I didn't send her into the care of a midwife before the day's end. If her child had any sense whatsoever he or she would not be born on a day such as this.

Once Alex dragged himself forward, he stoically held his tears at bay and managed to find the strength to look Charles in the eye. He needed no further prompting on my part.

"Uncle Charles," he stammered. He caught his bottom lip between his teeth briefly before he continued. "I...have done something terrible, haven't I?" His eyes were drawn to the mark he left on his teacher's face. "I could have blinded you," he whispered.

Charles inhaled deeply and nodded. "I know, Alex."

"And you wouldn't have ever seen the baby Meg brought home to you."

"You meant no harm, Alex," Charles whispered.

"Yes, I did," Alex answered.

My insides went cold. His words startled me, left me paralyzed and speechless. How could he have meant to intentionally hurt Charles? This child I had so carefully raised was suddenly no better than his father.

"Oh, Alex," Meg admonished. She crossed her arms tightly above her stomach and shook her head in dismay. "That's terrible of you to say."

Alex paid no attention to Meg or to me as I stood behind him, scarcely able to believe his words. It was a harsh blow my son had issued. He was supposed to be everything in the world I was not allowed to become, my reason for surviving in the world so long. Through his life I learned much about myself. Having him as my child made me proud, but I was furious with him and disgusted with myself. Each misstep he made was also mine, each wrong decision equally my doing.

When Alex stepped forward I wanted to grab him by the arm and drag him into the hall, but I saw Charles' expression change. He nodded and lowered his eyes as a sigh of exhaustion left him.

"I don't know what happened. Honestly, Uncle Charles, I…I don't know why I did it."

"You were angry, Alex. And very upset."

"It was the most dreadful feeling in the world, Uncle Charles. I never want to feel that way again," Alex sobbed. He shook as he finished his words and glanced over his shoulder to meet my eye.

"Does it frighten you?" Charles asked him.

Alex stared at me a moment. He appeared terrified, which I realized was exactly how he felt. He turned to Charles and nodded. "But it shouldn't, should it?"

Charles gave him a weak smile. "I think it is for the best that it does."

With a sigh, Alex nodded. There was no way in which I could punish him. He had experienced enough on his own.

"I forgive you, Alex," Charles said quietly.

"You shouldn't," Alex replied. "Not for a very long time."


	18. Madeline

This is a long chapter for once! Thanks for your reviews.

I'm not sure why the first time around that my edits appeared on here but not in my finished document. I may have posted without first saving changes. Sorry.

This is the third tim I've changed this chapter. Crosses fingers

OW18

Alex appeared surprised when I donned my mask for our excursion, as he had grown quite accustomed to seeing me without it. It was a mask that left only my lips and chin visible, but it was flesh-colored, which I thought made it inconspicuous.

Apparently I was mistaken.

"What happened to your other face?" Alex questioned without looking at me.

"This is more appropriate for where we are going," I answered.

Despite Alex facing away from me, I caught the skeptical look in his eyes. He shrugged and folded his arms, deciding not to speak whatever was on his mind. It was for the best, and after a moment of consideration I decided not to quibble with him.

We walked to the corner of the street in silence, with Alex trailing behind me. He scuffed the soles of his shoes with each step, aggravating me to no end. I wondered if he did it merely to be irritating and received confirmation with one glance in his direction. He caught my glance and bowed his head, then lifted his feet and quickened his pace.

In all the years I had lived in Paris, my suits always came from the same clothier: Brerro's. Horatio Brerro was a Spaniard who made only the finest of garments. He and his two sons, Benitio and Tomas, ran the business. The boys, both several years older than Alex, were enslaved in the back of his store, according to Madeline.

When we approached the tiny shop stuffed between many peddlers, the business appeared closed. There was no sign, however, indicating thus and the door was unlocked. I turned to Alex, who was oblivious to the situation. He was too busy kicking at the sidewalk to notice.

"Pay attention," I snapped.

"To what?"

"The proper response is 'pardon me?' and I'm telling you to pay attention to the world around you."

"I will," he mumbled.

The bell above the door jingled as I held the door open and ushered Alex inside. I had never seen such a small space crowded with so many fabrics. There were displays of suits, shirts, and ladies' bonnets covering every inch of floor space and crammed on the shelves.

"Is anyone here?" I called impatiently after several moments of waiting.

Voices emerged from the back, whispers and muttered curses followed by a small crash that earned additional mutters and curses. Alex and I exchanged curious looks before a man with a thick head of steel gray hair emerged, a wide smile on his fleshy face. He wiped a smudge of lipstick from his cheek and cleared his throat.

"Buenos dias, Señor!" he greeted. "How may I help you?"

Before I could respond, a woman nearly fell out of the back room. She fixed her hair, straightened her skirt and looked up at me, her face flushed.

My heart stopped the moment I saw her and I blinked twice, assuming I was mistaken. But there was no mistake, which brought a smile to my masked face and elicited a gasp from Alex.

By the expression on Madeline's face, the feeling of absolute disbelief was mutual.

"Madame," I nodded. "I thought you were going to the market."

"I am," Madeline replied brusquely.

"Dessert first, I see?"

She admonished me with an arched look. "Señor Brerro made a hat for Meg, which I am purchasing today since Tomas has finished it."

I nodded, glancing at Alex, who was still wide-eyed. I wasn't certain if he understood what had happened, but his face appeared flushed. If he didn't know the details, he assumed much.

"Why are you here?" Madeline snapped, still unnerved that I had uncovered her true reason for ordering my suits from Horatio Brerro.

"Alex needs a suit. If I had known you were visiting here first I would have sent his measurements," I replied, looking her in the eye.

Madeline shrugged. "Pardon me, Horatio, it was rude of me not to introduce Monsieur Erik Kire and his son, Alexandre."

"Si, si, your son and grandson," Horatio said, gesturing at Alex.

"I see your son always when he walks down to the candy store. He's a good boy, I hear. Looks strong, too, and tall like his father. And you, M'sur, I hear wonderful stories about you," Horatio replied, his accent impeding his speech. "Your music, it speaks to everyone."

I wondered if he were attempting to flatter me or win over Madeline. He certainly appeared fond of her.

"Thank you," I replied, stealing another glance at Alex. He was staring at Madeline as though he didn't know what to make of the situation. "You've two sons yourself?" I questioned.

"Yes, both as wonderful as their mother, God rest her soul."

I nodded, thinking of Julia's words the previous night. Perhaps this was the distraction Madeline needed to keep her from rooting around in my private affairs.

"Julia and I are having supper with Alex and Lisette. Perhaps tonight you could entertain Monsieur Brerro and his sons," I suggested.

Madeline appeared murderous, knowing full well that she had been caught in a tryst. She nodded with as much dignity as she could muster.

"If he is not occupied," she said adamantly.

Without a moment's hesitation, Horatio nodded, his rotund belly jiggling. "It would be a pleasure, Madame."

Madeline's face turned bright red, which Alex immediately noticed. He pulled on my sleeve and whispered rather loudly, "Why is Grand-mere so embarrassed? Doesn't she want Monsieur Brerro to come to supper?"

"She's fine, Alex," I replied. "She's just fine."

-o-

Alex was stiff as a board for his measurements. His initial shock turned to protectiveness over his Grand-mere, who eventually returned home. While Monsieur Brerro whistled his way through sizing Alex, my son inquired about everything he could think of, which was far more than even I would have expected from him.

"Your son is very…how do they say? Animated."

That was putting it kindly.

"Someday he'll make a politician," Horatio continued. He studied my mask, his ruddy face turning a deeper shade of crimson before he nervously cleared his throat.

"He will talk his rivals to death," I replied.

"He reminds me much of his Abuela."

Alex gave Monsieur Brerro a narrow-eyed glare, taking offense to a word he didn't understand.

"Grand-mere," I whispered to Alex, which instantly won his approval.

"You come to me and I teach you Spanish, Alex," Horatio said. "What languages do you know?"

"German, Italian, French, of course, English, and some Gaelic. Oh, and Latin and a few words of Egyptian. And there was a woman that my Aunt Meg told me not to speak to who wanted to show me some Chinese magic."

"Excuse me?" I said, staring at him.

Horatio laughed. "Perhaps not politician, but a man surrounded by a harem. You have on your hands the first sheik of France."

Alex and I departed from the storefront in better spirits than when we arrived. As we returned, he begged for me to allow him into the candy store.

"It doesn't much matter if you have an apple before dinner, Alex, it's the candied part that makes it into a treat."

"Then may I have one following supper?" he asked hopefully.

"Julia is making our meal. She will serve dessert as well, I assure you."

"But not candy apples," he glowered.

I rolled my eyes at him. "Do you intend to drive me absolutely mad today?"

"No," Alex replied innocently.

Once we returned home I asked him to accompany me to the back garden. We sat on the steps and I removed my mask and placed it on my knee so that I could wipe my face with my handkerchief. Alex watched me in silence, or as silent as he could manage with his foot tapping on the stair.

"Do you understand why the Comte could not list you in the obituary?" I asked.

The architect in me memorized the layout of the garden complete with fountains I had seen in Italy and a stone path of red stone as I had seen in Morocco. With Meg unable to tend to the garden as she had in the past, the roses had grown wild, the weeds strangling her neglected flowers.

Alex's foot ceased to tap. "Yes," he answered softly. "Because Monsieur Raoul thinks I would be erupting."

"Disruptive," I corrected. "But that isn't quite true."

Alex appeared displeased that I had curbed his pouting. He shrugged and looked away, pulling a violet from the ground that had struggled to find sunlight beneath the ramp Alex and I had built.

"If you wish to attend the funeral," I said as I placed my hand on his knee, "you may do so."

Alex shook his head. "I don't want to see her again," he mumbled.

We sat in silence for a while, as I wasn't sure how to respond to his words. It was a relief that he didn't want to attend her funeral, as it would have caused a sensation. However, it was in Alex's best interest that he stay away. He had never experienced animosity and I didn't want him to stand before hundreds of people and be shunned for who he was, both as the child of a monster and the bastard son of a woman who had murdered herself. It would also damage his chances of ever meeting his half-sisters.

"You want to meet the Comte's daughters, is that what upsets you?"

"A little," he shrugged.

He frustrated me again, though I didn't wish to yell at him.

"You'd rather not express what you feel? To me?" I asked.

Alex gave me a strange look. "How am I supposed to feel?" he asked with the honesty only a child could provide.

"I have no idea," I replied.

His perfect innocence was slipping away before my eyes. The child I loved and protected was slowly discovering that I could no longer protect him from the world outside of our home. I grieved for him, for the experiences he was going through at such a young age.

"I always thought she was dead,just like Lisette's father," Alex said at last. "But then she returned and I thought she was an angel."

His words made me shudder.

"You don't suppose Lisette's father will return as well and tell you that you cannot give me a new mother?" Alex asked, his anxiety clearly etched in his dark eyes.

His thoughts had stretched much further than I was prepared for encountering.

"Lisette's father will not return," I assured him. I didn't know what else to say,and so I said nothing.

Alex leaned in closer. "You will not leave me, will you?" he asked, his voice trembling. "I don't want to be without you, Father. Not ever."

It wasn't Christine's death or never meeting her daughters that had upset him, at least not entirely. My throat tightened, as it became apparent his deepest concern was losing me.

Placing my arm around him, I held him close a moment and kissed the top of his head, wondering if this would be the last moment in which I could coddle him like a child. The security he felt with me would soon become cumbersome to him, impeding on his ever-nearing adulthood.

"I intend to stay with you for a good long time; until you're taller than I am, know more than I do, and have seen every inch of the world."

Alex grunted. "Then you will live forever," he whispered. "Because I swear I will never leave our home."

He made me laugh. In five or six years I had no doubt he would refute he had spoken those words, but for one day more I had him greedily to myself, still trusting and believing that he was fortunate to be my child.

"You'll never have a harem if you stay here," I said as he wiggled from beneath my arm and began tapping his foot again. "Must you insist on tapping your foot?"

He stopped and sheepishly smiled. "A harem is where there's a lot of women, isn't it?"

"I don't remember," I lied.

Alex didn't argue. "I really don't want a dozen women. I want a dog."

I climbed to my feet and Alex followed. " Wash up, Alex. I will be speaking with Julia for a moment. Come through the back when you're finished with your studies."

Leaving my mask on the stairs, I walked through the gate and tapped on Julia's door.


	19. Posessive

A/N: NDBR's will find a special treat. It's a howling good wink at two very funny ladies.

E/N: Fondest greetings, Mademoiselles. It has been weeks, if not months, since I have had the pleasure of addressing you. First, I must express my gratitude to Teresa for her excellence in editing my words, and to Mademoiselle Radia for creating the cover to my first novel, A Heart that Waits.

In a day or two there will be information regarding my release posted on Gabrina's website. Pity she doesn't allow me my own. Details to follow with Chapter 20 posting.

And now, my dearest and loyal readers, I present to you: Chapter 19, **Possessive**.

OW19

"You're like a tom cat," Julia said when I walked through her back door. She was mixing ingredients into a bowl, her hair in a loose bun and her apron coming undone in the back.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Slinking in for a treat," she said over her shoulder with a grin I knew well.

"I'm hardly slinking," I glowered. "Unlike some people."

Tapping her spoon on the side of the bowl, Julia turned to face me. "Meg told me what happened with Alex."

That wasn't what I was referring to, but I nodded. "We went to the clothier to find him a suit this morning."

Julia nodded adamantly. "It's good that he spends time with you. He's undoubtedly confused and concerned with all that has happened this week." She smiled. "But I honestly expect you to care for him."

I shrugged, having nothing to add to our conversation.

"You're very modest," Julia said as she tugged her apron free. "For someone whose life has been difficult…" she said as she touched her fingers to my lips. "You're a good father to him and I think he knows it, Erik. Lisette has been clamoring for days that she will finally have what Alex has." Julia paused and looked at me as she lifted her right eyebrow.

"What do you expect me to say?" I questioned. Her compliments made me a bit uncomfortable.

With a peck on the lips, Julia squeezed my shoulder. "You sound slightly irritated."

"He's hardly a child anymore," I muttered.

"He's still child enough," Julia shrugged.

My arm snaked around her waist. "I don't understand how a child can go from building a frog palace one day and then worrying about being an orphan the next."

Julia frowned. "He's growing from a child to a young man."

Closing my eyes, I exhaled. "I'd rather he not."

"What are your intentions? Keep him in…" her voice trailed off as she realized her impropriety. With a frown, Julia shook her head and looked away, her grip around my back loosening. "I didn't mean it. I apologize."

Nuzzling her ear, I held her close. "But I would keep him in his room out of my own selfishness, not out of spite," I murmured.

"Sometimes when I look at Lisette I think similar thoughts. If only I could convince her to stay with me forever," Julia grinned.

"Alex offered to stay with us forever. And he doesn't want a harem. He wants a dog."

"A harem?" Julia gasped. "What in the world do the two of you talk about when you're together?"

"Monsieur Brerro mentioned to Alex that he would one day be a sheik and have a harem of women."

"Ah, so you have met him," Julia said. With a sweep of her hand, she picked up a plate of cookies. "Hermine and Lisette made these. Would you like some tea?"

I followed her into the parlor. "Where is Lisette?"

"Upstairs. She wasn't feeling well after gorging herself on sweets and staying up all night with Meanie. I told her to lie down for a while, sleep off the sugar and such."

"Between the two of them it's impossible to distinguish the child from the adult," I muttered.

Julia grinned. "Yes, Lisette came away believing that Archie turns into a werewolf with the full moon."

"Indeed."

"How did you like Monsieur Brerro? He's a very entertaining man."

"Entertaining to some more than others," I said under my breath.

"Did something happen?" Julia asked as she placed a cookie on her plate.

This was the reason I had come to Julia's house. Childish as it was, I suspected that Julia would either find the tryst between Madeline and Horatio amusing or simply horrifying. I had yet to reach a conclusion.

"It seems Madeline enjoys his company," I said as I took a cookie.

"They are similar in age…" She paused and stared at me, her lips parted and eyes wide. "You don't mean to say…?"

"She was in the back room with him," I shrugged. "Monsieur Brerro walked out and wiped lipstick from his face."

"That could have come from anywhere," Julia said under her breath.

I rolled my eyes. "Honestly, Julia," I snapped, rubbing my forehead with my hand.

The cookie she had selected remained on her plate. "Madame Giry and Monsieur Brerro? You surely must be mistaken."

"After all these years of assuming she was made of stone the old girl seems to have a little fire in her."

"You should be ashamed of yourself, Erik," Julia admonished.

"Precisely what she's told me for years."

"This is good for her," Julia said. She leaned forward and touched my knee. "Do you approve of their courtship?"

"She would never ask my permission." The words emerged from my tongue with unexpected bitterness. Madeline was a mother to me, but it seemed as though our relationship had uneven boundaries. For the most part I treated her more as a cousin than a mother, while Madeline made her own attempts to assert herself as the mother hen.

"You sound jealous," Julia commented.

"There is nothing to be jealous of. That's utterly ridiculous."

"Possibly."

"Not possibly," I growled. "Madeline may do as she pleases. Her affairs are none of my concern."

Julia rested her head against the back of her chair. "I meant no offense," she said, as she sat forward once more and handed me the plate of cookies.

I looked at her sharply. "If you intend to feed me to occupy my tongue, Madame, I assure you I can find better uses for it."

Julia rose to her feet and slapped me in the shoulder. "Not now, you wicked man. I still have to buy bread for dinner." She waited until I was on to my feet before she continued. "Would you care to walk to the bakery with me?"

Until that moment I had forgotten about her cousin Anthony. However, Julia's mention of needing to purchase bread reminded me of his bakery.

"Have you heard anything concerning your brother?"

Julia's shoulder's dropped. "He has not paid a visit, if that's what you're inquiring."

He best keep his damned nose out of our lives, I thought to myself as I followed her to the foot of the stairs.

"Would you ask Meg or Madame Giry if they could stay here until I return? I don't want Lisette to wake and find herself alone."

"I don't understand why you don't hire someone to help you," I grumbled. For as long as I had known Julia she never employed a maid or cook to help her around the house.

"Lisette helps me," she shrugged.

My gaze traveled to her stomach, which she noticed immediately. "I did everything myself before Lisette was born," she said, apparently taking offense. "I'm hardly helpless. And besides, it's far too early to tell if you…succeeded."

"Succeeded?"

Julia blushed. "Oh, for heaven's sake, stop it," she scolded.

Coming up beside her, I kissed her shoulder. "When you are my wife I will take care of you," I said, gripping her around the waist and pulling her close. I nipped the side of her neck, which elicited a shiver from Julia.

Placing her hand against my cheek, she leaned into me and smiled. "Behave yourself. I must change clothes," she whispered before she walked away.

As I watched her walk up the stairs, wicked thoughts stirred with each sway of her hips. She glanced back and caught me, but I had no desire to look away from what would soon be mine alone.

"Shoo," she teased, and with that I reluctantly walked through the kitchen and returned home.


	20. The Walk to the Bakery

A/N: Heart has had a few glitches and my household has been sick. Sorry about slow updates, etc. Will try to update in a few days.

OW20

Madeline wouldn't look me in the eye when I asked her to stay with Lisette, but still she agreed. I wondered if she felt guilty after I discovered her in the clothier.

"Will you be long?" she asked, purposely keeping her back to me.

"I shouldn't expect so," I replied. I had half the mind to ask her if she feared missing an encounter with Horatio Brerro, but I caught the look in her eye when she glanced over her shoulder and knew she'd hit me with her cane the first chance she had.

"Take your time," Madeline said as she watched me leave.

Julia gave me a peculiar look when I appeared at her back door and explained that Madeline would be over momentarily.

"I beg your pardon?" I said as we walked through her house. Julia continued to glance at me without saying a word. "Madame?" I questioned dryly.

She shrugged, but I knew what she was staring at when I had approached. I dared her to say it. Naturally, she did.

"I didn't expect the mask," she said matter-of-factly.

"You should," I said under my breath. My agitation swiftly returned, my anxiety already fueled by the prospect of meeting her cousin again. "We'll be in public."

Julia squeezed my hand as we started down the street. "What about our wedding?" she questioned.

I didn't reply immediately. My heart was beating faster with her questioning, as I wasn't certain of what I wanted. Perhaps I wouldn't decide until the moment we were standing together awaiting the exchange of our vows.

"After we're married, when we take walks…" Julia started.

"I don't know," I replied before she finished. "Must we discuss this now?"

She gazed at me and decided not to continue. "No," she smiled, gripping my arm tighter. "But, unfortunately, I would still like to discuss the wedding if you wouldn't mind. Specifically who will perform the ceremony."

I nodded. "You attend church services," I commented. We never spoke of religion. Judging by our previous relationship I assumed she wasn't a strict Catholic. However, I couldn't help thinking of Madeline.

"I do, but did you know that Archie—"

"Of course he is," I muttered. "Is there an occupation that man doesn't have his hand in?"

Julia chuckled. "I haven't asked him, but I'm sure he would be more than happy to perform the ceremony. Unless you prefer to ask Charles."

"Charles?"

"You didn't know?" Julia seemed surprised. "He became a minister before he toured Africa."

"I had no idea" I answered. "We've never discussed it before."

"Well, at least we have options," Julia replied adamantly. She squeezed me tighter, her excitement clear in both her eyes and bright smile. My living, breathing wife, I thought.

We walked for a while in silence until we approached several children a few years older than Alex and Lisette. I looked away as we neared them, yet just as I feared they noticed my mask. I held my breath as Julia and I crossed the street.

"You do it," one of them whispered.

"No, you do it."

With Julia on my right arm, the left side of my body stiffened in anticipation.

"Fifty francs," one of them dared.

There was no telling what they were discussing, but I was aware that they were staring at me. Perhaps it was because my life had been spent as a morbid curiosity, an attraction people paid to view, that I became rigid and fearful that they wanted to remove my mask. Visions of being unmasked before a crowd, of being humiliated and shamed before all of Paris made my mouth dry.

It was odd, given that I had been out in public with Alex and Lisette, but I found I couldn't do it with Julia, at least not yet.

"Slow down," Julia said, gripping my hand.

"I can't," I muttered.

"Why not? It's still early, it's a pleasant day…"

"Do you want me to accompany you or would you rather be alone?" I snapped. My words earned me a tug on the arm that brought us to an abrupt stop.

"Honestly?" Julia snapped back, releasing my arm. "Erik, if you wish to return home…" her voice trailed off as the boys behind us continued to talk, their voices low. Her infuriated expression dissipated and she shook her head, finally realizing my discomfort.

"Julia," I said, but she turned away from me.

I didn't know what I would do if she walked away from me on the street. I wanted to reach for her arm, but she stepped away. From the corner of my eye I watched her approach the children, though I couldn't bring myself to turn and face them.

Julia spoke to the children, then returned to my side. "They were selling flowers," she said. "White and red roses by the looks of it. I promised to browse on our way home, if you wouldn't mind."

I stood and stared straight ahead, wondering where the hell the bakery was located and how long it would take until we returned home.

Julia squeezed my hand gently. "Tell me what you would like to do," she said quietly.

"I want to be with you," I answered and resumed walking.

I didn't say another word until the bakery was visible. The incident with the children shamed me, and now that we were on the verge of becoming a family I wondered if every whisper would continue to evoke feelings I had carried my entire life. At night when I walked alone I was shielded by the darkness. No one studied my appearance or dared to look twice. But the daylight was cruel.

There was no enjoyment in a tepid summer day. Since the day I had decided to take refuge within the opera house, my moments in sunlight had been few and far between. In fact, it wasn't until I moved into my current residence that I experienced sunlight and natural shadows falling on my hands and pen as I composed my music. I found it changed how I wrote, both in the writing process and the final result.

My fears of being seen and ridiculed in public were not only for myself, however. I never wanted Alex to witness my humiliation. Just as I realized we were not far from the Wisteria Hotel, I was reminded that Alex had already seen me disgraced in an alley, and no child's hurtful words would ever compare to that moment. He was not as fragile as I wanted to believe.

When we were almost in front of the bakery, Julia stopped and faced me. "Are you certain you wish to come inside?" she asked as she brushed a strand of hair from her eyes.

I nodded. "He's your cousin."

She sighed, and though she attempted to mask it, I knew Julia was concerned about how I would react to another male member of her family, as thus far our encounters had been anything but pleasant.

"Do you trust him?" I questioned.

Without hesitation she nodded. "He's the only person I've communicated with over the years. I think of him more as a brother than Max," she said. Sadness returned to her eyes, the melancholy she'd attempted to ignore was becoming evident.

I had no use for the family I was born into and they had no use for me either. But Julia was different. She was not willing to abandon her family, and as I stood and gazed at her, I knew that she needed me to assist her in this, if nothing more morally supporting her.

"How good is his bread?" I asked.

To that, Julia smiled. "Good. But his cakes are better," she said before we walked inside.


	21. Anthony's

A/N: Those of you reading Paladin are already aware: _A Heart that Waits_ is for sale as a paperback, hardback, and an e-book thru lulu dot com. If you go to my website and click on Phan Support there are more details available. A portion of proceeds (a dollar, or 33 goes to fund animal rescue.)

Check out the cover! It's awesome!

NDBRs: There were a few changes to the preview.

OW21

A man and a woman were shouting at one another when Julia and I walked into the bakery. The jingle of the bell attached to the door caused their conversation to end abruptly.

"One moment, please!" a man shouted from the back of the bakery. It was Anthony, I suspected. The woman with him laughed, and at the sound of her voice I glanced at Julia.

I mouthed, "Madeline?"

Julia glared at me. "I'm sure she feels absolutely terrible, especially if Alex saw her in such a…position," Julia said under her breath, her tone scolding.

Truly, I couldn't imagine that my delight in discovering she wasn't a cold-blooded woman after all would diminish any time soon. Served her right, the irritating woman, to be caught in the arms of my tailor.

"It's discomforting that the Italians have a bakery in Paris," I said under my breath as Julia surveyed sweet breads on a silver tray.

"Hush," she replied.

"Quite bold," I grumbled as I watched her pop a slice of bread into her mouth. She intrigued me with her dainty action, the way her lips closed around the food, her hand covering her mouth so that I couldn't see her chewing. I swallowed hard, finding her actions intimate and inviting.

"My cousin will pack a box of cookies for you, I have no doubt."

"Italians baking bread in Paris. Nefarious, if you ask me," I continued.

Julia rolled her eyes and extended her hand to me. "Here. Try this," she said.

"What is it?" I questioned.

"You know very well what it is. Honest to God, Erik, it would have been easier to bring Alex and Lissy," she teased as she waited for me to open my mouth.

I watched her fingers, so long and slender, nearing my lips. How I much desired to taste her fingertips. The bread was merely an added treat.

"Ah, Julia, how are you?" Anthony exclaimed as he walked through the back door.

Julia nearly dropped the treat she held in her hand. Straightening, she turned to face her cousin and smiled, attempting to appear as though we had merely been standing patiently, waiting for someone to assist us.

"I'm well. How are you, Anthony?" she said with pleasantness and grace.

"Fine, fine," Anthony replied. He briefly stared at me before he kissed Julia on both cheeks. "You look wonderful, honestly. Better than you've looked in years."

"You are too kind," Julia blushed, a reaction I didn't care for at all. He was her cousin through marriage, not through blood. If he had designs on my Julia…

"How is Lisette?" Anthony questioned. "I haven't seen her in weeks."

"She wasn't feeling well today, I'm afraid."

"Nothing serious, I hope?"

"No, she was awake quite late while being spoiled by Archie Leach's sister. You remember Archie and Hermine, don't you?"

"No one can forget a Leach," Anthony said with a wink, which made Julia laugh.

"Erik's mother is staying with Lissy while she naps. You remember Monsieur Erik Kire, don't you?"

I looked away as they exchanged pleasantries, uncertain of my immediate feelings toward Anthony now that he was showing Julia his affection. My only consolation was that Max was not with him.

"Erik, you remember Anthony, my cousin?"

Once she said my name I turned to acknowledge her words. Anthony smiled at me, doing his best to appear as though he weren't staring at my mask.

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance once more, Monsieur," Anthony said. He kept his arm around Julia and extended his hand to me. "Have you considered my request to accompany my father and me to dinner?"

He made no mention of Max. I wondered if Max had finally decided to return home. I imagined he should have been well enough to travel now, but with such a pig-headed man nothing could be certain.

"Dinner?" Julia questioned.

"Before you are married," Anthony said with an easy smile.

"I'm afraid that won't be possible, as we are to be married on Monday."

Anthony appeared slightly taken aback by my answer, but did nothing more than nod. Julia blushed and quickly came to my side and took my arm.

"It's a very small wedding," she said apologetically.

"You're not inviting family?" Anthony asked, his brow furrowed. He crossed his arms and studied the two of us, feigning concern or genuinely bothered I couldn't tell.

Julia stammered. "We'll have Erik's mother, his sister, her husband, my daughter and Erik's son. Between the two of us…"

"I see," Anthony replied. He uncrossed his arms and rubbed his palms together. "Then perhaps it would be possible to have tea together, Julia?"

"I would like that," Julia replied.

"Today?"

Julia shook her head, pausing a moment. I saw her glance at me from the corner of her eye. "After the wedding," she said, keeping her voice even.

Anthony's gaze traveled between me and Julia, his expression unreadable. "Are you certain?" he asked, his eyes locking on Julia's.

She squeezed my arm gently. "We are having dinner together tonight. Perhaps you would care to join us after dinner for a drink."

He smiled then. "Of course."

"Then we look forward to having you," Julia said. "It's been many years since we've had the opportunity, hasn't it, Anthony?"

"Too many," Anthony replied. "With Louis—"

"I know," Julia said before he finished. She looked away as he stepped forward and pecked her on the cheek. I looked on, making damned certain he didn't linger longer than necessary.

"You do look well," I heard Anthony whisper. "Better than you ever did with _him_." When Julia made no reply, Anthony pulled away and quickly glanced at me. He nodded, seemingly in approval before he called to the woman in the back. She shouted to him in Italian that she was going next door.

"Who is that?" Julia questioned.

"A neighbor," Anthony shrugged. "Now please, I insist that you allow me to make your cake."

"We didn't come here expecting handouts," Julia said.

"Ah, it's not handouts when it's for family, Julia, my dear."

He was dancing a very fine line with his flirtations.

Anthony returned to the back, shouting over his shoulder that he had more samples for us to try and would have more after dinner if we wanted him to bring cake to Julia's home. Once he disappeared, a woman and her daughter walked into the bakery and selected their bread. The girl, a scrawny little thing, made no attempt to hide her interest in my mask. She gawked unabashedly until her mother tugged her along, nearly running into Julia in her haste.

"Do not stare at the unfortunate," the woman hissed.

"What happened?" the little girl questioned.

"Hope you never find out," the woman said. "Now where is the owner?"

Julia turned to face the woman just as I turned away. "Your daughter is very beautiful."

"Thank you."

"Mama, may I ask him what happened?"

Her queries were unnerving. My hands had begun to sweat, my focus on my surroundings dissipating.

Anthony shouted a woman's name and several seconds later a tall, slender girl with sleek black hair appeared. She made change for the woman who was impatiently tapping her foot and holding fast to her daughter, who was straining for another look at the macabre being she'd discovered in the bakery.

"Do you have a face?" the girl questioned.

I merely stared at her, not knowing how to respond. She was a stranger, and normally I would not have acknowledged an uncouth stranger, but this was a child. Her words were not intended to be malicious.

"Stephanie," the woman warned.

"Does he, Mama?"

Snatching her change, the woman dragged her daughter from the counter and pulled her out of sight. I don't know how long I stood and stared at the rack of bread in front of me before Julia put her hand on my shoulder. I didn't know what to do or what to say. It had been many years since anyone had confronted me in that way, save for my own son who questioned everything.

"Only a moment more," she said softly. "And then we will have lunch together."

I nodded and turned to face her. In her eyes I saw her unspoken words: _She meant no harm. A child has many curiosities. Forgive her, Erik._

Putting my arm around Julia, I took a deep breath and kissed the shell of her ear.

"Unless, of course, we leave here with no appetite," Julia added.

"We will have lunch together. Alone," I growled in her ear, grabbing her tighter.

She made no reply, but I felt her smile as she kissed my lips.


	22. Flowers and Bread

I posted another vignette under "Giver of Life" that I would love to hear what you think about it. More from Julia coming soon. Oh, and I PROMISE I'll start writing more for Goddess Noir soon. I want to finish the Julia vignettes first and maybe Paladin so that I don't fall behind. Thanks for understanding. Now...more Erik Kire!

OW22

Anthony sent Julia on her way with half of his bakery, all of which I carried home. He kept a respectable distance from her once I took her by the arm and remained by her side as we sampled several types of cake.

"Both Erik and his son simply love their sweets," Julia said for absolutely no reason whatsoever.

"How old is your son?" Anthony questioned before we departed.

"Almost nine," I answered.

Anthony nodded and rubbed his hands together.

"You would adore him," Julia commented. "He's very bright."

"I've been considering hiring a boy his age to run errands for me."

Julia squeezed my arm as though her gesture would immediately cause me to consider her cousin's words.

"There must be plenty of boys his age in the neighborhood," I replied under my breath.

Julia chose to ignore me, but I felt her fingernails dig into my upper arm.

"You've probably seen him running to the candy store. He and Lisette are just so darling together. They're perfect siblings, aren't they Erik? They've always been very good friends, haven't they?"

"Yes," I answered. She was far too busy carrying on about the children that it didn't matter if I answered her or not.

"If he is interested in earning extra money here and there, be certain to send him in," Anthony offered as he saw us to the door.

I merely nodded, but Julia thanked her cousin for thinking of Alex. By the sound of it, Alex was already employed.

"I think Alex would enjoy working for Anthony," Julia commented as we neared her house.

"He has his studies."

"He could work at the bakery one day a week. It would hardly interfere, and think of how proud he would be to earn his own money."

"He's almost nine. What does he need money for?" I protested.

"Little boys always need money. He's very handsome, Erik, he may have a girl he's interested in giving a piece of candy."

That was a dreadful thought. He wasn't nine yet. He belonged with Charles in the study, not buying sweets for girls, which I attempted to explain to Julia.

"Goodness, you've aged since we left home two hours ago," she said, nudging me in the side. "You should see him when he's with his friends. He's quite amusing when he speaks, gesturing just as you do. Why, every girl in the neighborhood will be leaving a calling card at your door."

She wouldn't win our discussion with flattery. I immediately put a stop to the nonsense. "This is a discussion for next week," I replied gruffly, hearing laughter ahead.

The boys we had seen selling flowers were still on the corner. They were chasing each other around, tagging one another as they darted between people strolling down the street. They ceased their horseplay once they saw Julia, seeming to recognize her immediately.

"I promised I would buy flowers," she said.

Hell, I couldn't allow her to purchase her own damned flowers. Grabbing her arm tightly, I nearly whipped her from her feet to keep her from handing those boys money.

"What in the world are you doing?" Julia questioned, suppressing a laugh.

"How much are they?" I grumbled.

"Well, don't sound so joyous," she muttered.

I looked at her sharply and saw her smile. It tickled her, though I wasn't sure if she delighted in irritating me or in knowing that I would buy her flowers.

Together we approached the boys, who were standing in a line with a bucket of cut roses before them.

"You ask him," one of the shorter boys said, nudging his companion in the side.

I was tired of whispers. "Ask me what?" I snapped.

They all straightened.

"Are you Alex Kire's father?" the youngest boy squeaked. He was looking at Julia when he spoke and barely offered me a glance.

A boy I could only assume was his brother shoved him aside. "Alex said his father was marrying Lissy's mother," the boy stated. "This is Lissy Seuratti's mother, and if you don't mean to marry her…" he began rolling his shirt sleeves up to his elbows.

"Oh, how charming," Julia said, clasping her hands.

Charming, indeed. These street ruffians attempting to protect Julia's honor with fisticuffs were anything but charming. I would certainly question Alex once I returned home.

"This is Alex's father," Julia said, still grinning. "He's a composer."

The youngest boy pushed away from his older brother. "Are you as terrible as Monsieur Testan says?"

"Enoch! I'll sock you in the eye!" his brother warned, shoving him back again.

Julia was becoming more amused by the second. Taking the youngest boy's head between her hands, she kissed his forehead. "I guarantee you, my sweet, he makes very lovely music."

The boys seemed to settle, nodding in approval as they continued to nudge each other. They stared at my mask, but not in a way I would have expected. Alex must have explained my different faces, which I should have expected.

"Not as lovely," the older brother said, "as these flowers, Madame."

At any moment Julia was liable to burst from their honey-sweet words. She turned and grinned at me, most likely wanting me to buy everything, including the dead flowers. Gritting my teeth, I held out enough money to have purchased them on Champs-Elysees in Paris, which they eagerly accepted. In return Julia received one meager bouquet, which she hugged to her chest and inhaled deeply.

"This has been a lovely day," she said as we approached her front door. "Those boys are perfect little gentleman."

"They're swindlers threatening local denizens."

"Oh, Erik," Julia chuckled, unlocking her front door. "I would have defended you," she teased. She plucked a note jutting from beneath the door and frowned. "It seems Lissy woke up and went to play with Alex."

Once she rose to her feet, I held her back from me and turned my head to the side, giving her a sidelong glance. She looked at me curiously, a wan smile on her lips.

"What is it?" she said, keeping her voice low.

"You've changed," I commented.

She shook her head, her smile widening. "I don't understand."

I pulled her in close, leaving the bag from the bakery leaning against her door. The flowers fell from her hands and she wrapped her arms around me. In the years since we had first met she'd become a sensible, respectable woman. Not stiff, not dull, merely mature. But in her smile and laugh was a content bride-to-be, a carefree and happy woman. She was more wife and lover than my caretaker. She was at last my woman.

Heedless of who might see, I lifted my mask enough to press my lips to hers, needing to taste and feel her. She melted into me, sighing heavily, her fingers pressing into my back. It enticed me to think that someone might see me kiss her, my future bride.

"Let's go inside," I murmured against her lips, caressing her behind her ear.

She giggled. "It tickles when you do that." She kissed me softly and closed her eyes, lacing her fingers with mine.

Hand in hand, she forgot about her flowers and I neglected the bread. The only thought on my mind was how to waste away the afternoon.


	23. Raoul Returns

I'm in the process of sending off some stories and waiting to hear back from a publisher. Sorry about the slow updates. It might be slow for the next few weeks while I sort everything out and work on my career. Thanks for understanding. Swear this will be completed, as are the rest of my stories.

Gabrina

OW23

Everything about Julia reverberated with happiness. She smiled as she took me by the hand and guided me upstairs, she giggled when I stopped her on the landing merely to brush her hair from her eyes.

Each kiss drew passion I had never known before. She was not just my lover, she was my best friend, and she was content.

Once we stood in her bedroom, I purposely faced her away from me and kissed the back of her neck. I felt her lean into me, her sigh the only voice given to her pleasure. Slowly I took her hand and brought it to my lips where I kissed her fingers, one by one. Her hands smelled of roses, which I inhaled as I touched my lips to the inside of her wrist. I released her hand and kissed the side of her neck, brushing her hair away so that I could taste her earlobe, then the nape of her neck.

Without a word Julia turned to face me. Her arms wrapped around my waist and she smiled, her eyes heavy-lidded.

"That was how I first kissed you," I said as I caressed her flushed cheek.

She nodded, her grin widening. "You remember," she murmured as she linked her arms around my neck. Her eyes filled with tears and she made no attempt to keep them from falling.

"I don't know how I could forget," I answered. Ashamed of myself, I looked over her shoulder and stared at the wall. What a tremendous fool I had been to forget so many of my moments with Julia over the years. How I had insulted her with my insistence to pine over Christine.

"I do," Julia whispered as she stepped back and took my hands in hers. "You're a much different man now than you were four years ago."

I gazed at her again while she sniffled, uncertain of her words. In silence I watched as she ran her thumb over mine. Her hands were beautiful, so soft and delicate.

Julia trained her gaze on our joined hands as she spoke. "I loved the idea of you," she confessed with a frown. She glanced at me briefly, her lips turned up in a wan smile. "And now I'm in love with you because you accept it."

I brought her knuckles to my lips. "Forgive me," I murmured.

With a smile, Julia returned the gesture and kissed my knuckles. "Forgiven."

My hand gently cradled the back of her head as I drew her closer and fitted my mouth over hers. She placed her hands against my cheeks, held my face in her loving grasp.

"We should really contain ourselves," she murmured against my lips.

"Hmm?" I had no intention of stopping. Her sensibilities had arrived far too late. What I wanted was abandonment of all thought, complete and utter senseless touching and caressing, and more. Much, much more.

"We'll be married soon enough," Julia reasoned.

"Consider this practice."

She laughed out loud. "You've had years of practice." As consolation, she patted my chest. "It would make our wedding night more memorable if we controlled our urges now."

"I find you maddening, Madame," I said before I kissed her again and pressed her hips to mine.

"You're very convincing at the moment," she replied breathlessly as she wrapped her arms around my neck.

Before I could lead her into the bedroom, a knock on the door froze us on the landing. I stared at her briefly and Julia shrugged. "A sign from God," she said under her breath as she turned and walked down the stairs with me following close behind. Before I reached the bottom stair I replaced my mask.

"You do realize you sound like Madeline, do you not?" I asked as I raised an eyebrow.

"Hush, Erik, you've humiliated her," Julia scolded.

"I humiliated her? By merely walking into the clothier's?"

She would have done everything in her power to prove me wrong, but she had reached the door. With a stern look tossed my way, she smoothed her hair and opened the door.

"Good afternoon," she greeted.

"Madame, Monsieur. I'm not interrupting, am I?" Comte de Chagny questioned.

Well, hell.

"No, of course not," Julia replied in her usually pleasant tone. "Would you come inside and join us for tea?"

"I won't stay long," de Chagny replied. "I left my card at your home," he said as he looked at me. "Madame Giry said you and Madame Seuratti went for bread." He held up the bread and flowers we'd left by the door and handed them to Julia. Damn, irritating whelp.

I nodded and wondered if he would have sat by the door and waited for us to return. Julia welcomed him inside, but he didn't accept her invitation. It was then that I noticed a woman and two children standing at the end of the walk. Immediately I turned away so that they could only see the left side of my face, but it was too late. The oldest girl, Isabelle, stared at me. I assumed she remembered me from the encounter in her parents' hotel suite.

"Your daughters?" Julia questioned. She nudged me with the bread and flowers, which I took from her hands and placed on a table near the door. What in the hell was going on? I wanted to demand.

The Comte nodded. "I don't want to intrude."

Obviously his intentions were to tread lightly. Even so, he grated on my nerves. If not for him, I would have had Julia in my arms still—quite possibly in her bed.

"It's no intrusion," Julia replied as she walked out the door. "They're beautiful girls, Monsieur. I only wish Lisette and Alex were here to see them. Oh, how sweetly they would play together."

"Your children aren't present?" de Chagny questioned, a deep frown upon his face.

"I'm afraid not, Monsieur. But come in for a cup of tea and perhaps they'll return soon." She paused and took notice of him remaining in the same spot. "Won't you join us?"

Raoul de Chagny glanced at me as though he looked for my permission. I sighed and turned to face him.

"You wish to introduce my son to your daughters?" I questioned.

He stared at me briefly. "As cousins," he replied. "For the moment."

I started to disagree with him when Julia linked her arm with mine. "Cousins? Don't you think that would confuse them?" she asked.

My concern was for Alex, who had suffered enough. I would not allow him to believe these were now his cousins and then explain to him later that they were in fact his sisters.

"Alex knows your daughters are his sisters, and he wouldn't think twice of questioning them," Julia continued. "Your daughters wouldn't know what to think, Monsieur."

The Comte visibly bristled. "I no longer know what will confuse them," he muttered. "We'll return at a different time," he said over his shoulder as he walked away. "Nanette, escort the girls to the cab."

Julia abandoned me at the door and followed after de Chagny. "Perhaps you need a moment to yourself," she suggested.

He didn't bother to face her. "That's all I have," he said.

"Have you told them?" Julia questioned. She kept her voice low and glanced back at me with a frown on her face. She was terribly concerned over Raoul de Chagny. I couldn't understand why.

He paused when he reached the front gate. His head hung lower, his unspoken words the only answer needed. He must have kept them extremely sheltered in their hotel room, as I couldn't imagine how he'd managed to avoid telling them thus far. With the extent of Christine's travel, I had no doubt they went many days—weeks, even—without seeing their mother. What would he do? I wondered. Wait until they arrived at the funeral parlor? Even I found his behavior alarming.

"Is there a more convenient time to call?" he asked.

"With or without your girls?" Julia asked.

"I don't know," he answered raggedly. He looked at me with his soft, pale eyes, and I thought of what Julia had said. He didn't merely appear as a man who was in mourning. He looked like a man overwhelmed with misery, isolated from the world that welcomed him, if only for his blood ties.

"My cousin is joining us after supper for a drink. Would you care to visit before supper?"

The Comte didn't answer. His two little girls and their nanny were nearly to the corner when I saw Lisette and Alex chasing each other down the street. Once Alex saw the cab, he came to a halt and stared at the three of them.

My heart stopped. We were too far away to shout and redirect his attention, as he'd already seen the two girls. I watched, my body tense, as he turned and noticed Raoul de Chagny.

Julia was the only one with sense enough to react. Waving her arm, she garnered Lisette's attention and Lisette, in turn, grabbed Alex by the arm and attempted to tug him down the street. But he refused to move. He'd seen his sisters and had no desire to leave now that they were little more than twenty paces away.

"Alex," I called, but my voice was too weak for him to hear. Or perhaps he had heard but he refused to listen. He was drawn to the carriage, to the promise of family. He shook off Lisette's persistent hands and walked straight to the carriage door.

"Oh, Alex," I whispered as he reached for Isabelle and turned her to face him. She recoiled at his touch, but she faced away and I couldn't see her expression. With a polite bow, Alex stared at her a moment and offered his hand.

None of us dared to move.


	24. Isabelle and Domini

I completely forgot to upload this. My apologies. As a recap: In the last chapter Raoul returned with his girls. Alex came around the corner and (of course) had no qualms about approaching. Julia, Raoul, and Erik froze in place, fearing what Alex would say to his sister.

I've updated Giver of Life, so if you haven't checked out The Shadow vignettes I'd appreciate your feedback.

OW24

We feared the worst now that Alex stood before his half-sisters. My heart dropped as I saw the three of them side-by-side. Everything within me screamed to deny that there were any similarities between them, be it hair color or posture. I wondered if my son looked for himself in their eyes, or if he searched for his mother.

"Don't anyone dare move," Julia said quite irritably as she glared at me and the Comte. Her words were sardonic, and as I watched her lifting her skirt and march down the street, I considering staying my ground, She issued one last warning look before she approached the children.

I didn't dare turn to Raoul de Chagny. He had irritated me the moment he appeared at Julia's door. What a fine mess he had created, which undoubtedly he considered my fault. For a man of such fine breeding he had very little sense.

With a sigh of discontent, I dutifully followed Julia.

"I built a frog a castle," Alexandre said quite proudly. He'd only begun his dissertation a moment before we approached, and I assumed he started his speech with what interested him most: Amphibians.

"How lovely," the Chagny nanny said as she wrapped her arms around the older girl's neck and kissed the top of her head.

"Not really. It's made out of mud," Alex replied. "But I figure they're frogs and they don't mind."

"Alex enjoys building," Julia said as she grabbed Alex's hand. She looked at me and then at her daughter. "He's quite a bright child. Very gregarious."

"That means he talks too much," Lisette interjected.

The nanny, who had no idea what to say, merely nodded and looked down the street for her employer.

"See the children into the carriage," de Chagny shouted as he hurried past me.

"Good afternoon, Comte," Alex said as he waved, then bowed. "I've met—"

"Yes, yes, I see that," Raoul snapped. "Girls, we must return to the hotel for lunch. You both look half-starved."

The older girl took a step back from Alex and curtsied before she looked to her father.

"You're Isabelle?" Alex blurted out as the child turned toward the carriage.

The little girl paused and nodded.

"And you're Isabelle's sister?" he questioned the toddler clinging to the nanny. She instantly buried her little face in her caretaker's arm. A shy thing, a coy angel…a minute replica of Christine, I thought to myself.

"She has a name of her own, Alexandre," Julia said.

"Domini," Raoul de Chagny said, addressing Julia. "Her name is Domini."

"How beautiful."

How irritating of Julia to compliment him. It was an unusual name, hardly beautiful.

"I dreamt that we would have a daughter and that her name would be Domini," he said under his breath. He forced a smile, which turned genuine once the little girl put her arms out for her father. "My dream," he said as he held her in one arm and placed his hand on the older girl's head.

"They're beautiful," Julia said. She glanced at me, a questioning look in her gaze. Without a word, she turned her attention to the Comte. "They both have your eyes."

"That's very kind of you to say, Madame."

"Papa, who is this boy?" Isabelle questioned as she turned and wrapped her arms around her father's leg.

Julia placed her hand protectively on Alex's shoulder while I remained behind de Chagny. I couldn't bring myself to move, even though I desperately wanted to stand at Alex's side. My presence, I assumed, would only worsen the situation. As I stared at Isabelle, I was certain she would recognize me from the night I had come to her parents' suite at the Wisteria.

"My name is Alexandre Jean Kire," Alex said quite proudly. He looked at me and grinned. "Monsieur Kire, the composer, is my father!" he shouted so loudly I was certain half of Paris heard him in his moment of exuberance. I could no longer bear to stand at a distance.

Julia chuckled as she scooted Lisette closer. "Alex, you are simply a joy," she said as she kissed his head. "And, Mademoiselle Isabelle, this is my daughter, Lisette."

With Julia and Lisette at his side, Alex stood smiling. His grin only widened when I approached.

"Alex?" Isabelle questioned.

"Alex went to heaven with Suzette," Domini said. She tugged on her father's lapels. "Didn't he, Papa?"

The Comte's face went pale. "Who said that?" he questioned.

Before the girls could answer, the nanny ushered them into the cab. "Listen to your father," the woman said in her sing-song voice. "Both of you, into the carriage with you and sit like ladies."

Alex stared at the ground, his expression unreadable. From the moment he approached the cab I had assumed that he would reveal Christine's death. Instead, his sisters—these girls who had no idea that they had met their brother—revealed his death.

I placed my hand on Alex's shoulder, but he didn't lift his eyes or utter a word. With a ragged sigh, Raoul shut the cab door and shook his head, his hands held out, palms up. A silent plea for forgiveness.

"Alexandre," he started.

"May I show Isabelle and Domini my frog castle?" Alex asked before de Chagny could begin. "That is to say, if they would like to see my creation."

Raoul nodded and bent to speak with Alex at eye-level. "Perhaps another time," the Comte replied. "I believe they might enjoy a bit of frog castle building." I loomed over them, carefully keeping guard of what he said to my child. De Chagny didn't dare meet my eye as he spoke to my eye. Perhaps he'd finally learned better.

Alex peered into the cab window where Isabelle stared out at him, her nose pressed to the glass.

"Tomorrow?" Alex questioned.

The Comte lowered his gaze. Tomorrow was an impossibility, as it was the day of the funeral.

"I'm afraid not," he mumbled before he returned to his full height. "My sincerest apologies to you, Alex."

Alex merely nodded, but Julia stepped forward. "Alex must assist his father before the wedding. There will be no frog castle building for several days, I'm afraid." She tilted Alex's chin up and rubbed a smudge from his cheek. "He's the best man, aren't you, Alexandre?"

Alex's brow furrowed. "I do beg your pardon, Madame Seurrati?"

Julia smiled warmly at him before she looked to me. "Two days before our wedding and you haven't informed him of his duties?" she said with an exaggerated sigh.

Lisette slapped Alex in the shoulder. "This," she said, "is why us women must simply do _everything_."

Her words instantly broke the tension, and oblivious to the carriage, Alex and Lisette continued chasing one another all the way to Julia's front door.

At least for the moment, Isabelle and Domini were forgotten.

Raoul rubbed his hand down his face and stared at the cobblestones. "I cannot keep it from them a moment longer," he said under his breath.

I had no words for him, but Julia, ever sympathetic, nodded. "I'm certain you will inform them in the appropriate manner. They're your girls, Monsieur. They love and trust you. Now more than ever, your presence is needed. I realize that sometimes men of your position haven't the time to spend with their children--"

"They were in my care far more often than they were with…I was a father to my daughters," he said. He glanced at me before his gaze lowered.

"I trust that you were. It's obvious that they care a great deal for you, especially little Domini. Little girls do love their fathers, don't they?"

He didn't reply. I thought for certain he would leave at once, but his departure was thwarted.

"Oh, Julia, there you are!" the absolute most irritating voice called out.

Reluctantly I glanced up and saw two familiar faces nearing.

I should have known the Leaches would return.

While Julia introduced Archie and Hermine to Raoul de Chagny, I felt the two little girls stare at me. I had no doubt that the oldest girl recognized me from the incident at her parents' hotel room, and I wondered if she would question her father once they departed.

Archie unexpectedly walked up and clapped me hard on the back, which nearly made me choke. The imbecile inhaled deeply.

"It will be a sincere pleasure to marry you and Julie dear," he beamed.

"We haven't—"

"No need to pay me, old fellow."

"We need to discuss—" I gritted my teeth.

"Consider this a gift from one friend to another—to one of my closest friends. Now, I mean that truly. If I didn't approve, I wouldn't allow you near my little Julie."

I sighed and shot Julia a look, but she was far too concerned with properly introducing Hermine, that little twit, and de Chagny. Hermine pestered Julia a while longer, Archie said he had important business matters to attend, and de Chagny turned to me and frowned.

"I had no idea she would have said such a terrible thing to the girls," he said. "I didn't know…she never expressed to me—"

"My son wishes to see your daughters," I said as I stared at a distant point. If I had looked at him, I would undoubtedly have grabbed him by the throat. "He shall know his sisters before you return home."

He didn't argue or protest. Head bowed, he opened the carriage door and left without another word.


	25. Final Plans

I should have another Julia vignette soon. Also, please check my website soon for some exciting news.

Thanks for your reviews! Gabrina

OW25

Alex and Lisette decided to eat lunch with Ruby, who still captivated my son's heart with the slightest of smiles. Their absence allowed Julia and me a moment alone—one which would have found better uses had the Comte not arrived on the doorstep.

"I think we should invite him for dessert," Julia said as she set a cup of coffee on the dining room table.

I stood in the doorway and watched her work. Her domestic duties captivated me for reasons I couldn't explain, but I enjoyed watching her slice bread and tie her apron. It felt intimate to watch her, as though at last I fit into her life.

She tapped me on the chest as she passed me in the doorway. "Well?"

"I think that sounds like a waste of dessert," I grumbled.

She glanced back and smiled. I knew by her expression that she was up to absolutely no good. "For every scone I feed him you shall have two, even if I have to sneak it under the table or smuggle it under my skirt."

I lifted a brow and she shook her head at me.

"Behave yourself, Monsieur."

"Hide anything under your skirt and you lose the right to ask me to behave myself."

She laughed out loud and carried a tray of onion soup and bread into the dining room.

"When did Archie become a minister?" I asked.

"I have no idea," she said with a shrug. "Would you rather have Charles perform the ceremony?"

"You decide."

She paused and tilted her head to the side. "A brilliant answer." She smiled and grasped my hand. "I will ask Archie to play the violin for us and have Charles perform the ceremony. Doesn't that sound nice?"

"Yes, that's fine," I answered.

While we enjoyed our lunch together Julia made an oral list of everything we needed to have prepared for the wedding, which she told me to remember. She seemed delighted that in a mere five days we had our plans set. Most of what she mentioned, however, I had not heard of until she gave me a detailed account. The flowers for her bouquet and for Lisette's, who was the flower girl, were ordered and scheduled to arrive at noon, which, as I was told, was five hours before the ceremony. Anthony promised to deliver the cake we had sampled to Julia's home in the morning.

"We'll be married here?" I asked.

"Yes. I told you this days ago."

I had no recollection of the conversation. "Ah, of course," I answered.

"Ruby is preparing the dinner," she informed me. "I believe it's settled." She cleared the table and asked if I would be more comfortable in the parlor. The most comfortable location would be the bedroom but I suspected Lisette and Alex would return at any moment.

"I have work I must do," I replied.

Julia frowned. "I thought all of your compositions were completed."

"I have one more."

She nodded as though my work was so exhausting that it deserved sympathy.

"Don't be late for dinner," she warned as she walked me to the back door.

"This recipient is very strict," I told her. "I'll arrive as soon as possible."

Julia could not resist the urge to straighten my lapels. "I will invite Monsieur de Chagny," she said. She met my eye. "He worries me greatly."

"I know."

"I think I may also invite Archie and Hermine for dessert as well."

"You may as well invite the circus, what with all of the company you're expecting," I said under my breath.

Julia leaned into me. "I'm afraid I'll need to tell Archie that Charles will marry us."

"You expect disappointment?"

"Perhaps. You know he considers me as a sister and you as a good friend."

I didn't say anything. Other than Charles, Archie was the only man I knew whom I could consider a friend. I refrained from speaking ill of him.

"Now, don't forget to ask Charles," Julia said. She practically pushed me out the door as she spouted off all the work she had to finish before dinner.

I returned home to find Meg sitting in the kitchen with the side of her head against the wall. She looked utterly miserable.

"You look utterly miserable," I said.

She nodded. "It's hot in here."

I paused. "Tepid."

"Hot," she argued.

Had I known any better I never would have argued with a woman in her condition.

"It's hotter outside."

"I'm not outside," she said through her teeth.

Madeline walked in to see what the fuss was about and glared at me, as though walking into my owned damned kitchen were a crime.

"Leave her be, Erik," Madeline said. She waved her hands at me, the insolent woman!

"She's complaining about the temperature," I huffed.

Madeline released an exasperated sigh. "I have half the mind to tell you to return to your room," she said as she looked at me.

"Do it," I said sternly.

She rolled her eyes and handed Meg another towel to place on her forehead. A moment later she followed me out of the kitchen.

"She's not feeling well," Madeline said under her breath.

"No?" I asked dryly. I turned and saw the worry etched on Madeline's face. "She's not…in the kitchen, is she?"

"Excuse me?"

I waved my arms about. "Her condition won't…terminate…as she sits there?"

Madeline narrowed her eyes. "Terminate?"

"Is it time?" I asked between my teeth.

That put a smile on her lips. "No, I don't believe it is. She's just very uncomfortable at the moment."

"Then put her to bed."

"She won't listen to me." She sounded aggravated. Madeline's title, which I knew she would carry to her death, was Mother. She took great joy in mothering her daughter and the little girls in the ballet when they had wandered about and found their way up the stairs and to the opera boxes where she worked. There was a similarity there between Madeline and Julia in their ability to care for others. It frustrated them both when their intentions were not needed.

I crossed my arms and stopped at the foot of the stairs. "How long has she sat there?"

"A good hour, perhaps more."

I grunted and Madeline gave up. With a sigh and toss of her hands, she returned to her sewing. As she walked away I heard her sputtering that everyone in the house drove her mad.

-o-

I gathered my blank sheets of paper, along with a wooden board on which to write and a pen, then returned downstairs. Madeline and Ruby were chatting in the parlor and I could hear Alex inside the library for his afternoon lessons with Charles. Lisette was also sitting in, as I heard her shout out an answer.

When I reached the kitchen I discovered Meg still sitting at the table with her eyes glazed over and her cheeks bright red.

"Can you stand?" I questioned.

She glared at me. "I'm not a downed cow."

I stared at her a moment. "Can you stand?" I growled.

Her gaze instantly lowered. "Yes," she said meekly.

I watched her struggle a moment before I grabbed her by the arm and helped her stand. She winced and said under her breath that her feet and ankles hurt.

"You needn't walk far," I promised her.

She gave me a strange look as I hoisted the kitchen chair and carried it out the back door. Like a frightened little mouse she followed me and stopped on the ramp Alex and I had built. I heard her breathe deeply, inhaling the scent of the garden she'd been unable to tend.

With the afternoon sun at the front of the house, the back porch was cool and breezy. I sat on the stairs and placed a rock over my blank sheets of paper.

"May I ask what you're writing?" Meg asked, the nosy woman.

"A composition for Julia," I answered.

"How lovely," she answered.

Her mood had changed suddenly. The snapping turtle I'd met as I walked through the back door was now a sweet dove perched on the porch.

"Indeed," I said under my breath as I sat with my pen poised.

"A swing would be just wonderful out here," Meg said with a longing sigh. "Don't you think?"

"Yes," I glanced over my shoulder and saw her give a little smile.

"Do you need silence to work?"

"Yes."

She didn't say another word for at least five minutes, but by then the sound of the wind in the trees and the chatter of unseen birds provided inspiration and I knew what I wanted to tell Julia. An hour later I had finished my composition for Julia, partially on paper and partially in my thoughts. When I turned to face Meg she was smiling wistfully as she watched the clouds.

"You must build Julia a swing for her and the baby," she said.


	26. Tomatoes

Giver of Life was updated, and for those of you who read Goddess Noir I have the start of the second half up now. :) XOXO

G.

OW26

Dumbfounded, I stared at Meg, who appeared oblivious to her words. She tapped her feet together and sighed, her eyes trained on the clouds.

"Julia's baby?" I questioned. I rose to my feet, prepared to march to Julia's door immediately and demand an explanation.

Meg appeared startled by my voice and looked at me, a faint smile on her lips. "I imagine one day," she said. She looked away from me. "She's spoken of a baby often enough."

"To you?"

She chuckled softly. "Yes, to me. Lisette tires of being an only child. She and Alex both would be happy to have another sibling."

"They'll have one another," I pointed out.

"True."

"When did she tell you this?"

Meg shrugged. "Do you mean the first time or more recently?"

She did nothing to calm my nerves. We stared at one another for a moment before she sighed. "Oh, what I wouldn't give for a tomato. Doesn't that sound lovely? A big, red, ripe tomato."

I didn't give a damn about tomatoes. I wanted to know for certain that Meg didn't know more about Julia than I did. Surely she would have told me first if there was a development following our intimate encounter.

"Erik."

Madeline stood by the back door.

"Where is—" She noticed Meg and studied her a moment before her gaze settled on me. A smile played at the corners of her lips. "Ah. Fresh air makes healthy babies."

"How?" Alex asked. He slipped past Madeline and leapt off the landing and nearly into the flowers, which earned him a grumble from Meg.

"Pardon me?" Madeline said to him. She suddenly appeared nervous.

"How does fresh air make healthy babies?"

"Don't ask questions," Madeline snapped.

She may as well have asked him not to breathe.

"Father?"

Composition in hand, I sighed. "Oxygen to the lungs increases blood circulation which creates a stronger heart. Strong heart, good lungs, healthy baby."

By the expression on his face it was clear that my educated answer impressed me much more than it impressed him. With a frown, Alex looked from me to Meg.

"You should breathe deeper, Aunt Meg," he suggested.

Not a moment later Ruby appeared beside Madeline and coaxed Alex away by telling him that she needed a strong man to help her carry a roast from the market. Wide-eyed, he darted into the house and said he could carry two roasts if needed.

"I think I'll lie down for a while," Meg announced. She stared at me, her hand outstretched, and I helped her to her feet. Before she released me she patted the back of my hand and grinned. "Julia would enjoy a swing. I'm certain of it."

The sooner she had her child in her arms the better, I thought to myself. As far as I was concerned I could no longer tolerate her mood fluctuations and I didn't experience the full brunt of her emotions. Perhaps Charles was a man to be pitied.

Once her daughter returned indoors, Madeline set her hands on her hips and stared at me. I absolutely hated it when she stared at me, as I knew she had much on her mind but wouldn't say a word until I prompted her.

"Out with it, Madeline," I mumbled.

She shrugged. "Monsieur de Chagny called while you were away."

"I've seen him," I muttered. I followed Madeline into the house.

She appeared surprised by my words. "Peculiar."

"Irritating."

"I invited him inside," she added nonchalantly.

"Excuse me?"

"Well, I couldn't allow him to stand on the porch all afternoon and wait like a lost dog. I invited him inside and he sat in the parlor with Charles."

"Where was Alex?"

"To lunch. I sent him on an errand and he didn't return until Monsieur de Chagny was gone." She grimaced as she leaned against the wall. "But you know how friendly Charles is. He didn't mind the company."

He simply didn't know any better, I thought to myself, and with that damned heavy wheelchair of his he couldn't excuse himself. He was suitably mated with Meg and wouldn't dream of rude behavior. He was forever a soldier and a gentleman; dignified and respected. I imagine the Comte was quite impressed with his host, as I recalled the surprise in his voice when I informed him that Charles Lowry tutored my son.

"Alex saw the Comte's daughters," I said under my breath.

"Mother Mary," she whispered. "He didn't introduce them…did he?"

I exhaled and crossed my arms. "He hasn't told his daughters about their mother's death."

Apparently Madeline had no knowledge of this fact despite the Comte paying a visit to the house. He must have decided to save this information for me and Julia alone.

Seeing Madeline's pain clearly etched on her face, I gestured for her to sit. Without protest, she limped down the hall and I followed her into the parlor, as I had no desire to pick her up from the floor after her knee gave out on her.

We sat for a short while and I explained to her how de Chagny had appeared on Julia's doorstep, purposely omitting how he'd ruined my afternoon.

"Julia wishes to invite him for dessert," I scoffed.

"And what do you think of her invitation?"

"How do you think I feel?"

"If I knew I wouldn't ask.

"Madeline," I warned.

"It's merely a question." She feigned innocence.

"There is never 'merely a question' with anyone in this house."

"There is no need for anger, Erik. Ruby made rhubarb and strawberry pie but I'm not certain how fresh the strawberries were. Would you like a slice?"

I glared at her for the abrupt change in subject matter, but didn't stand and leave the room as I normally would have felt compelled to do.

"Stay put," I grumbled.

We remained in silence for a moment before Madeline grunted.

"He hasn't told his daughters? What in the world is he waiting for?"

"I haven't the slightest idea."

"He's acting rather foolish."

"Given the circumstances I believe he's entitled to act foolish."

She looked away and folded her hands, which left me to wonder why I had defended the Comte. Honestly I felt a sense of responsibility for the boy, a surprising and unexplainable duty toward him. Perhaps it was because I had made his life a nightmare long ago and now had the ability to see what we had both experienced.

"You pity him?" Madeline said under her breath.

"Pity him? No." I didn't look at her when I spoke. "We would never pity one another."

"Then what is it?"

"Did you know she was very ill?"

She blanched at my question. "Her sickness was not one many people who live within an opera house would have noticed. I always thought it was a game, a fantasy of sorts she enjoyed playing. It wasn't until…the end…that I suspected she was truly ill."

"He's known for ten years—longer than that, I'm certain." I stood suddenly.

"Yes," Madeline said, seemingly embarrassed. "I suppose you're correct."

We said nothing more to one another. For the remainder of the afternoon I finished my composition and neatly placed it in a pile at the edge of my desk.

Alex burst through the door and ran up beside me. "A new symphony for the stage?" he questioned.

"No," I replied. "It's for Julia."

"Why would she want that?"

I exhaled.

"Will you play it?"

It crossed my mind that perhaps I should have kept this a secret until the wedding.

"This moment?" I asked.

He flopped on my bed. Aria, who had been napping at the foot of the bed, stretched and started to leave. Alex grabbed her and cradled her as though she were an infant. The two of them comprised my audience.

"Very well." I sighed as I opened my violin case.

Alex sat in perfect silence as I played my song for Julia without once glancing at my written work. He appeared skeptical once I finished and asked, with brow furrowed, if I would play it again, which I did. He was more animated the second time around, his fingers twitching, head bobbing.

"May I try?" he questioned.

"To play it?" I stammered for an answer. Alex had never shown much interest in music, but I gladly handed him the violin and showed him the proper way to hold the instrument.

He did exactly as I showed him and then narrowed his eyes as though in concentration. In silence I listened to him play the first dozen or so notes exactly as I had done. He paused, took a breath, and did it again, this time playing more of the composition.

"Was that it?" he questioned.

"Yes."

"Truly?" He seemed surprised.

"Yes, truly."

"Shall I play you the whole song?" he asked.

"If you remember it."

"I do," he said. "But I think I would like to play it faster than you did."

I turned my head to the side. "Indeed, Alexandre."

He giggled to himself. "The part that sounds like laughter needs to go like this." He played an example and I nodded in agreement. I wasn't sure if I should be humbled or proud of his suggestion.

And then he played the whole song, faster than I had, exchanging the notes I had intended for ones he apparently found more suitable. He concentrated very hard on the task at hand, his brow deeply furrowed. He looked like a perfect little man auditioning for the theater as lead violinist. He amused me greatly, and I was rather impressed by his skill.

"Where did you learn this?" I asked as he placed the violin down.

He shrugged. "I just watched you."

His talent should have left me speechless, as he was a natural, but in my heart I had always assumed a seedling of musical ability existed. Given his parentage he should have housed an entire orchestra in his heart.

I was quite pleased, more so than I would have ever imagined. Even so, I wasn't quite convinced that he had played out of love for music or simply to experiment. My dream for him was a career in music, although he showed a greater appreciation for architecture and history. Of course, I could also see him embalming the dead using ancient Egyptian techniques. This new endeavor seemed quite tame for Alex.

"Rehearse," I said to him as I placed my hand on his shoulder.

He looked at me. "Rehearse this same song?"

"Yes."

"But I already know it."

"And if you practice you're less likely to forget it. You wouldn't want to forget it, would you?"

"I want to learn another one."

"Not yet. I want you to play this one for Julia. At the wedding."

He needed no further convincing. His smile was answer enough.


	27. Madeline's Spider

Sorry for the delay. Too much sun.

OW27

Once I had proved to Alex that a real violin was much better than a damned phonograph I decided to walk to Julia's house. Madeline yelled for me to return immediately because she had trapped a spider under a cup and wanted me to take it outside.

"Have Alex take it outside," I said as I reached the kitchen.

"Heavens no. It might bite him."

I had serious doubts that she'd trapped a life-threatening arachnid in her bedroom but she insisted that my assistance was needed.

"Weren't you just at Madame Seuratti's home?" Madeline said as I closed the back door.

Ignoring her question I crossed the yard and closed the gate, which I noticed needed repair as it scraped the ground each time it opened and closed. The gate would have to wait for another time, however. I wanted to thoroughly question Julia over Meg's speculations. Even I knew that no woman would know of conception this early. It would still be weeks.

Weeks. Could I tolerate weeks of uncertainty? There was no other choice, but that knowledge didn't ease my anxiety.

I still hadn't made up my mind as to whether or not I wanted another child. The idea of starting a family with Julia intrigued me, as did the notion of watching her belly grow and knowing that together we had created something greater than ourselves.

Yet I still could not look past the uncertainty. I knew nothing of my family, of my ancestors. Perhaps another child of mine would inherit my face. Nothing seemed crueler to give an innocent baby than the instant disapproval of the world.

The thought made me shudder. I knew our immediate family would not shun a child whose face mirrored mine, but it would only be a matter of time before he or she encountered a scrutinizing world.

My concerns vanished the moment I heard Hermine's voice through the open kitchen window. Her irritating tone stopped me at the back door.

"He asked me to stay a moment once we reached the hotel. I couldn't possibly tell him no, could I?"

"No, of course not," Julia replied.

I furrowed my brow and decided to remain outside a moment.

"Well, I followed him and his daughters into their suite and he sat them down. Then he poured himself a scotch. Julia." She lowered her voice. "He must have had two full glasses before he walked his girls into the other room. I must have sat with the nanny for a good hour before he returned. He thanked me for visiting and escorted me outside."

"Did you leave then?"

"Eventually. He became very talkative for a while and I listened to every word he said. Oh, Julia, he simply broke my heart. You know he's one of those people whom you look at and realize how much he cares for his daughters."

"You're right."

"I don't know how long I was at his hotel. He asked me to forgive him for rambling and then he helped me into the cab and his driver took me home. He was very adamant about telling me he's not a drinking man, which I believed. I suppose I would have drunk the whole bottle if I were faced with telling my children theirmother had passed away."

They were silent a moment before Hermine continued.

"It was all very strange. Not so much uncomfortable as just very peculiar. I never saw the girls again after he saw me to the door. I believe I heard him cry after he closed the door. I can't even begin to imagine what he's going through."

"It's probably for the best that he accepted my invitation for dessert. Which reminds me, I must tell Erik that Monsieur de Chagny has decided to join us. I should bake a little something just for him." She sighed as though I simply exhausted her.

When it sounded as though Hermine was about to leave I counted to five and strolled through the back door. My presence startled Hermine and she jumped.

"Great Wall of China!" she exclaimed, which made Julia chuckle.

"Fancy seeing you again." Julia smiled as I greeted her and Hermine.

"Oh, Monsieur, I simply must tell you that Archie is looking forward to the wedding. He's prepared to give away the bride, marry the happy couple, and play a wedding song for you two. You know how we Leaches are, don't you?"

"Indeed," I mumbled. Julia stepped on my foot.

"We're everywhere, aren't we?"

"It certainly seems that way."

Hermine slapped her hands together, a frightful imitation of her brother. "Whenever you need help, you find a Leach. That's what I always say."

"We look forward to seeing you and Archie tonight," Julia said.

Hermine and Julia giggled as they walked to the front door. A moment later Julia returned to the kitchen.

"Tonight?"

She rubbed her forehead. "It's turned into a small gathering. I sincerely hope you don't mind the company."

As I chewed on the inside of my cheek I stared at her with uncertainty. In my mind I had seen a quaint dinner with Alex, Lisette, and Julia. Afterward I expected her cousin to visit and once he left de Chagny would briefly call.

"It's only Hermine and Archie, really."

"For dessert?"

"And perhaps an after dinner drink."

This would not be a single dinner. Tonight would be the start of many small gatherings, evenings spent entertaining Archie and Hermine, possibly Meg and Charles after their child was born.

If I refused now I wasn't sure if she would ask again once we were married. Despite the advantage I couldn't refuse her outright, not after the life she'd offered me.

"How many people?"

"Six adults. Of course,you know both Archie and Hermine well enough. Everyone in Paris knows Hermine." She laughed somewhat awkwardly. "And Anthony, whom you've met. Monsieur de Chagny…and possibly Meg and Charles. Eight, actually."

"Meg hasn't said a word."

"I haven't asked her yet."

I rolled my eyes, which made Julia tsk.

"But she and Charles have always said how nice it would be to have dinner with us."

"Why would they say such a thing?"

She pursed her lips. "Honestly I believe Meg said it would be lovely to have dinner with me."

To that I grunted. "Indeed, Madame."

Julia turned away from me and filled a saucepan with water. I wasn't sure if she had given up or if she merely paused to reflect and gather another host of perfectly sensible reasons for a dessert party.

My tongue rolled along the inside of my cheek. She had apparently thought this over quite thoroughly. "What time are you expecting your guests?"

"Ten." She put the saucepan on the stove and turned to face me.

"What are you making for dessert?"

She smiled. "Unless I put you to work immediately I won't have it finished before supper." She marched to the cupboard and pulled out a large bowl.

"Is this your idea of a threat, Madame?"

"If a threat entitles you to apple turnovers then I am obviously a master of manipulation." She smiled again over her shoulder, a devilish grin which told me dessert would not only include a flour and sugar creation but perhaps a moment alone. "Have I instilled fear within your heart?"

Without a word I came up behind her and kissed the back of her neck.

"Peel these apples first." She glanced at me over her shoulder and tapped my cheek with her fingertips.

Naturally,I was at her mercy. Madeline's spider would have to wait.


	28. Taffy

OW28

Through the parted bedroom curtain I watched the breeze rake through the trees. Julia lay with her hand on my chest and her soft breaths against my ear and neck. I had no desire to move or speak. The comfort I felt was hypnotizing and at last I closed my eyes and nestled my face in her hair.

Alex and Lisette were still out for the afternoon, either at the candy shop or in the study with Charles, which was doubtful. Lisette had returned home briefly to kiss her mother and beg for money, which was sternly denied. Before she left she greeted me with a curtsy and a husky, Hermine-inspired, "How do you do, Monsieur Kire?" With a bat of her eyelashes and toss of her hair, she held out her hand.

"Lissy," Julia had warned as she added a cup of sugar to her apple turnovers.

With a five franc note in hand, I accepted her greeting and slyly passed her the money. Her eyes widened in surprise and I glanced at Julia, who had turned away.

"Mademoiselle, I trust with your feminine intuition you shall prevent your future brother from consuming too much candy before supper."

Julia whipped around and looked from me to Lisette, who smiled, a slight crimson blush to her cheeks. With another curtsy she was gone, yelling to Alex that she was in charge.

My eyes opened when Julia shifted, turning from her side to her back. She sighed and pulled her hair back, leaving it spread across the pillow.

"Do you know Lisette thought you would be a stern and domineering father?"

I grunted and closed my eyes again.

"It was only a week or two ago when she heard you telling Alex to stand up straight and comb his hair back."

"She was afraid?"

Julia chuckled to herself, apparently amused by the notion. "She said you sound like an old dog, which is better than what I sound like."

"What do you sound like?"

She sat up and began to separate our jumbled pile of clothing by her side of the bed. "I sound like a chicken being murdered."

I grunted again and Julia shot me a warning look. "You spoil her already."

"Pardon me?"

"You heard what I said." She handed me my shirt once I sat up and I leaned over and kissed her. "I can already see the two of you conspiring against me. Two days until the wedding and you're already in cahoots."

"A trip to the candy store bought us an afternoon alone," I reminded her.

"Yes, but now she knows you're on her side."

As though she'd heard her name, Lisette came squealing through the house shouting for her mother. I'd never seen Julia scramble so fast to lock the bedroom door. She looked at me and motioned for me to make haste as she finished dressing and straightened her hair in the mirror. Not a moment later I heard Alex.

"Where's Father?"

"He's resting," Julia replied.

"But we were just at Monsieur Kire's house and Madame Giry said he was still here." Lisette also went on to explain how Madeline gave Charles the spider and Alex wheeled him outside. As an offering to the frog they'd found, they left the poor creature outside of the mud palace, however there seemed to be questions as to whether or not frogs ate spiders.

"Where did Father go to rest?" Alex asked. He sounded anxious.

"He's here. Why don't you both wash your hands and faces?"

"Why didn't he return home?" Alex was not about to relent without a thorough questioning.

"He was very tired."

"Is he ill?" Lisette questioned.

"He can't be ill!" Alex stomped his foot. "What about the wedding? He cannot be ill for the wedding."

"I'm fine," I said as I buttoned the top button on my shirt and started down the stairs. I looked at Alex, who appeared relieved.

"Father, I thought you were ill but you were only in Madame Seuratti's room. Why weren't you in the guest room?"

"It's quieter upstairs."

Both Alex and Lisette looked suspicious but Julia clapped her hands and ordered them into the water closet to wash their hands.

"Good afternoon, Monsieur Kire," Lisette said. She marched up and held her chin high. I saw her glance at my right hand before she curtsied. "How do you do?"

"Very well, thank you."

Again she offered her hand, this time dramatically turning her head to the side. I couldn't decide if she looked sophisticated or far too much like Hermine.

We shook hands and I felt her drop a small object in the palm of my hand. Expecting coins, I smiled and pulled my hand away. Lisette seemed quite pleased with herself, and as I opened my hand I knew why: She had given me a piece of taffy, which I placed in my coat pocket.

"Both of you wash your hands and faces. I won't ask again," Julia said as she shooed them off. She turned toward me and sighed once they were washing up.

"Quieter?" She smiled.

"Put a bell on both of them," I grumbled. "A cowbell."

We walked into the kitchen where Julia led me to the back door. "Well, now that they're clean I'll fix them a snack. Archie brought over the most delightful strawberries and I'm afraid if we don't eat them soon they'll go bad. I'll see you for supper in an hour and a half, after you've cleaned up."

-o-

The house was silent when I returned home, not even a cat or dog in sight. I returned to my room and dressed for supper. I found Bessie sleeping under the bed. She emerged and whined for attention, which I lavished momentarily.

"Walk?" I asked as I scratched behind her ears.

She immediately began to bounce around the room, running from the bed where I sat to the bedroom door,as though she had no idea what to do with herself. It took longer than usual to leash her and once I had my hand through the end of it she nearly pulled me down the stairs. Master and loyal hound reunited, I grabbed my hat and exited onto the street as the sun began to fade.

She dragged me three streets before her energy subsided and she was content with trotting at my side. While we waited for several carriages to pass she plopped on the sidewalk and rested her chin on her front paws. She looked up at me with her solemn dark eyes as though she expected me to carry her, which I hadn't done since she was a pup. However, once the carriages had passed she spotted a larger dog across the street and decided it was her duty to protect all of Paris.

Upon our return journey I spotted Anthony Seuratti walking no more than fifteen paces ahead of us. Tipping my hat low, I maintained a steady pace and continued in his direction. The streets were filled with more carriages than pedestrians,but there were several cafés with outdoor tables and a man playing a Spanish guitar. We easily blended into the night and I kept a watchful eye on Julia's cousin.

We were nearly home when a carriage slowed and a man opened the door and pounded on the side of his cab. Startled, Anthony turned toward the street and Bessie and I slowed our pace. Thank God she didn't bark. A piece of taffy from my pocket kept her occupied while I lingered on the corner.

"What are you doing here?" Anthony questioned. He seemed agitated.

"Is that how you greet me?"

My breath caught in my throat. I hadn't expected to see this man again.

"I promised I would see to matters. You've no need to be here."

"I will travel as I damned please."

"A man of your health should take care."

"A man who barely mastered the mindless skills of a baker has no place in dictating medical advice to me."

Anthony threw his arms in the air. "You've always been an intolerable old goat. If not for your sister and the half-inch of space the newspaper allows you, no one would care to remember your life. Is that why you've always hated Max? He reminds you of yourself?"

"I always knew you were a coward. What did you do, Anthony? Return him to Italy with a pat on the back. Old chums, indeed."

"The White Goddess speaks on your behalf." Anthony turned away and stalked down the street, his hat clutched in his right hand. He was far too angry to notice me and Bessie, who was slobbering on her piece of candy. I dare not conceive what a veterinarian would have said on the matter of taffy serving as a canine gag.

"I remember when Falchetti was a respectable name! And now? Ruined by the Seurattis! You should be ashamed of yourselves! You and Max are both worthless to me!" His outburst resulted in a coughing fit, but Anthony didn't bother to slow his pace, even when the man inside the carriage called him a coward. He merely glanced over his shoulder and shouted his final words, which I barely heard as I led Bessie home.

"Good eve, Monsieur Testan."

I needed to arrive at Julia's home before Anthony.


	29. Unexpected Guests

For those who didn't get it in the last chapter: The White Goddess is another name for Opium.

OW29

I was out of breath when I entered the front door. Bessie howled, which earned her an equally loud and irritating "Hush, you little beast!" from Meg. Once I unleashed the dog I walked to my room, changed shirts, and swiftly prepared to walk to Julia's house and question her in regard to her uncle's strange behavior.

Truthfully,I had not expected to see the old fool ever again. I hadn't given him much thought in the past week since there were greater concerns than an ancient shut-in surrounded by his altars and relics.

However, Testan would return home and ridicule the musical world with his reviews. It was Anthony Seuratti who concerned me. He would "see to matters". Indeed. I would see him out on his ear if he attempted to persuade Julia not to marry—or to leave Paris.

This evening was damned before it started.

Madeline grunted and groaned on her way up the stairs and I answered the door before she knocked.

"You've the ears of a bat," she said.

"You sound as though the reaper is riding on your shoulders."

She glared at me. "What's the commotion at Madame Seuratti's home?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Meg and Charles are about to leave for dinner at her house. I hadn't realized our house would be empty." She looked somewhat hurt when she spoke.

"Ruby will be here, won't she?"

"Yes." Clearly, it wasn't exactly the company she wished for while her daughter, son-in-law, and grandson were out of the house.

"What about Senor Brero? Isn't he coming to supper?"

She shrugged, pouting rather childishly. "He was invited. It doesn't mean he will accept the invitation."

Inwardly I smiled as I was surprised he hadn't arrived already. He had appeared quite entertained by the prospect and I had no doubt he would keep Madeline quite content—especially with the house emptied. I wouldn't be surprised if she sent Ruby home early. A quick glance at my pocket watch proved I had no time in which to wait for him.

"I'll instruct Alexandre to knock before he enters," I said over my shoulder.

"Knock before he enters?" Her voice trailed away once my words registered, and she scoffed. "He is a gentleman. He knows how to respect a woman and worship the—"

"Good night, Madeline," I said as I walked through the kitchen.

Ruby glanced up at me as she put dinner into the oven. "You look quite handsome tonight," she said with a smile. "Brown is a nice color for you, Monsieur."

I tipped my hat at her before I walked out.

It sounded as though the roof would collapse the moment I walked into Julia's kitchen. Alex and Lisette chased each other upstairs, which apparently was irritating Julia to no end. She gave me a razor-sharp glare.

"Lissy," she said through her teeth, then turned to me. "Your candy has resulted in my daughter turned into a hyena. She and the other three have gone mad."

"Three?"

The Vicomte walked into the kitchen and stared at the floor. "I do hope I'm not intruding, but Domini requested a glass of water."

Immediately Julia smiled, albeit weakly. "Yes, of course. Supper is almost prepared if you would be so kind as to call them down."

He nodded, took the glass from Julia, and immediately walked out. It wasn't until I heard him walk upstairs that Julia turned to face me. She stared at my mask a moment but I had no intention of removing it, at least not before so many guests. It didn't matter if I'd met them all previously. It was the multitude which bothered me, not the relations.

"He told his daughters the news," she whispered. "At last."

I merely nodded, as I had already overheard this information from Julia and Hermine's earlier conversation.

Despite knowing he would be here I was no happier to see the Comte in Julia's home. He needed company, yes, but I hoped he would find someone else to provide it. "When did he and his daughters arrive?"

"About twenty minutes after you left."

My jaw tightened. I didn't want him home alone with Julia—and even with the children present I considered it inappropriate.

"He's been watching them play ever since they arrived. This is the first time I think I've seen him since he arrived."

It was hardly consolation, and when I looked at Julia I wondered if her words were meant to lighten the situation.

"The nanny was here briefly but she wasn't feeling well."

"I wonder why," I said under my breath.

"It's been a stressful day." She frowned. "He apparently told them their mother was now in heaven and they were quite pleased with the idea. It sounds as though their mother told them many tales of what it would be like to live with angels."

"Angels?"

"Halos, wings, white gowns. I suppose it sounds quite intriguing to a child."

I maintained a straight face as she gazed at me, and I had a feeling she understood my interest in the comment regarding angels. My musings were cut short, however, by an earthquake of tiny feet and high-pitched squeals.

"This is the result of candy?" I asked Julia.

"It was quite a bit of candy."

"How much did you allow them?"

Judging by the look in her eyes I was quite fortunate she had placed all knives into the sink. Still, she walked up and pinched my hand, a habit of hers I discovered I didn't care for at all.

"You gave Lisette a five-franc note and Alex had twenty. They returned home with enough candy for the rest of the month—which the four of them consumed in approximately fifteen minutes. And don't look at me as though it's my fault. I was in the kitchen."

"Who was looking after them?"

"Lissy and Alex are old enough to know better than to overindulge," she grumbled. "I'll be surprised if they touch their food at all."

With a sigh, she clasped her hands and welcomed them into the dining room. For so much horrendous noise no one would have ever suspected two little girls in matching blue dresses, sweet, worm-eating Lisette dressed in a darker blue, and Alex in his dark gray suit would have been responsible.

Angels, all of them, lacking wings but fluttering nonetheless in sugar-inspired mirth. I wondered if the two little girls understood their relation to Alex—or his relation to me—as they marched into the dining room and ran around the table.

"Now girls," the Comte said sternly.

His words did nothing to stop their horseplay. Indeed, they would have galloped around for an hour if Julia hadn't caught one of them by the arm and told her to sit at once. I'd ever seen Julia act sternly with either Alex or Lisette. The child looked as stunned as I felt, however the point was immediately taken. The girl looked to her father, who nodded for her to obey. She shuffled to her seat and kept her head bowed, awaiting her sister, who was immediately placed beside her. Once Julia turned her back the girls began to whisper.

I glanced at the clock and suppressed a grimace. Id' been in her home no longer than fifteen minutes. The four of them were tiring me and I hadn't done more than enter the kitchen and take my place at the dining room table.

With so much commotion I hadn't a chance to ask Julia about her cousin or her uncle. I didn't know when the opportunity would present itself, though I suspected it wouldn't be until after Anthony arrived. By then my chance would be lost to approach Julia alone and ask her if she'd heard from her uncle.

The doorbell rang and Lisette shot out of her seat and ran to answer it while Julia trotted behind her. A moment later I heard Meg and Charles speaking. I was glad for their company. It felt as though my allies had arrived.


	30. The Giant

I've updated Giver of Life, which has about 5 more stories until it's completed.

NDBRs: Minor changes, as usual. Funny? Not so much. :-(

Folks, this is a long chapter!

OW30

Julia had a place for everyone at the table and swiftly seated Meg beside an empty place into which Charles was wheeled toward.

"We're not late, are we?" asked Meg. She abruptly paused, her mouth agape as she looked from me to the Comte. "Oh…"

I thought she would walk out of the house immediately once she saw Raoul de Chagny on one side of the table and me on the other. There was no doubt in my mind that she probably thought she'd found herself in a circle of hell.

Apparently noticing her discomfort, Raoul reached for his napkin and his sleeve caught on his spoon, which fell to the floor. He excused himself quietly, retrieved it, and focused his attention on his daughters.

Meg wrung her hands and picked lint from Charles' shoulder. "I had no idea there would be company. I thought…"

"No, you're not late at all," Julia said cheerfully. She took Meg by the hand and kissed her on the cheek before she looked to Charles and smiled. "I hope you're hungry, Monsieur Lowry."

"It's Charles to you, Madame, and I'm ravenous." He kissed her on the cheek. "You look lovely and the house smelled wonderful from the moment we walked inside."

"Walked?" Isabelle leaned in and loudly whispered to her sister. "How did he walk?"

Charles pretended not to have heard, but I saw his jaw clench. Meg grasped his arm as though to brace him—or herself.

The girls not only continued to whisper to each other, but the two of them swung their legs back and forth and jiggled the table.

The Comte cleared his throat at last and reached out to the younger one. "Girls, quiet down, please."

Bashfully,they smiled but made no attempt to quiet themselves. With a sigh, their father lifted his glass and proceeded to drink all of his water. From that moment on it was perfectly clear: His daughters didn't listen to him, but he listened to them.

With Charles and Meg situated, Julia asked Lisette to help her, and I looked to Alex, who was on his feet immediately. He grabbed the back of Meg's chair and put his face close to hers.

"Would you like a drink, Aunt Meg?"

"Water, please. Or lemonade. Tart lemonade. No sugar, please."

He gave her a look as though he'd only asked to be polite. "Water?"

She chuckled. "Yes, Alex, water is fine."

"Comte de Chagny, it's good to see you again, sir," Charles said. "Did you make it to the fair today?"

The Comte looked surprised when Charles addressed him. "Not today, but I'm sure we will attend before we return home."

"With Alex's persistent begging," Charles said with a grin, "we've made it part of his studies."

The Comte's daughters continued to snicker, which earned them an uncomfortable look from Meg. She'd never done well in awkward situations, though I couldn't tell if she were bothered more by the girls or their father sitting at the table.

"Perhaps you and Julia would care to accompany us on our excursion," Charles said to me. "I believe Lisette expressed interest in the fair."

"Perhaps," I replied. It wasn't enough to continue the conversation, I knew, but I had nothing of merit to add. With the de Chagny's in Julia's home, Anthony Seuratti on his way, and a wedding in two days, the fair was the very least of my concerns.

Charles valiantly mentioned an article he'd read in the newspaper recently but I only half-heartedly listened to his words. I couldn't concentrate with the Comte's daughters poking each other and sliding off their chairs. With each passing second they grew increasingly louder with their questions and comments regarding Charles and his wheelchair, as well as my mask. I'd never witnessed two more irritating children—and I hoped to never again encounter such hellions for the remainder of my life. Though I'd never hit Alex, he most certainly would not have survived dinner had he acted in such a manner.

Julia returned with Lisette and Alex, their posture a little straighter as they each carried a bowl into the dining room. I suspected she'd spoken to both of them and removed the sugar from their bloodstreams with a firm warning to behave during dinner. With the manner in which the younger girls were behaving I hoped she could do the same by piercing them with her icy stare.

"I do hope everyone is hungry," Julia said.

While food was passed around, Alex named every type of candy he and Lisette had purchased at the candy shop.

"It sounds like quite a bit of candy, Alexandre," Raoul said. He looked up and met my glaring eye before he corrected himself. "I do hope you saved some for a rainy day."

"Does it taste better on a rainy day?" asked Lisette. Her eyes went wide.

"It's merely a saying," Julia explained. She passed me carrots. "Though I do believe we have the experts on hand when it comes to sweets."

I didn't say a word as I took the bowl from her, scooped out my portion, and handed the bowl to Alex.

"Isabelle, do you like candy?" Alex questioned.

The girl instantly pouted. "Papa never allows us to have candy."

"Bella," Raoul said under his breath. "Enough."

"You had some of my candy," Lisette pointed out. "Your papa let you have a whole handful."

Isabelle shot Lisette a dirty look before she turned away and stared at Meg. "Are you _his _mother?" She nodded at Alex.

My hands balled into fists.

"No, dear, I'm his aunt."

The girl snorted. "You must enjoy candy much more than Alex."

The color drained from Meg's face and her pleasant features twisted. I held my breath, completely expecting her mood to fluctuate. God help us if horns sprouted from her head.

"She's not filled with candy, it's all dirt," Alex corrected.

The de Chagny girls stared at him in disbelief.

Satisfied with himself, he leaned back in his chair and struck a pose which reminded me of Charles when he was in the middle of a political debate. He even picked at his fingernails in the same fashion as his teacher.

Julia looked utterly horrified and told him to apologize.

"But, Madame, she is filled with dirt! Uncle Charles told me during my studies. Aunt Meg gathers the dirt and packs it into her stomach so the baby can grow. Then the middle wife will come to our house and--"

"Thank you, Alex." Poor Meg was as red as a beet—her nephew's comments resurrecting her color and then some—while Charles stared at his plate in order to contain his laughter.

When I looked at Julia I doubted she'd expected the conversation to take this turn. I wasn't certain if I should be amused or equally appalled, but I couldn't help but think she'd brought this upon herself.

Isabelle scoffed. "He's not telling the truth, is he, Papa? A giant will come into his room at night and cut off his nose, won't it?"

"Mother, do tell her she can't discuss noses being cut off while we're eating," Lisette said.

Julia sighed and looked to Raoul, who was far too concerned with cutting Domini's meat than join in the conversation.

"He's telling the truth. It's a very specific dirt, my dear," Charles said. He turned his head and coughed to mask his chuckle. "Very specific, indeed. Imported, in fact."

"Sweetheart," Meg warned gently.

"A bit of fun, Meg." He kissed her on the cheek and nuzzled his nose with hers, which made her smile.

"A giant will come to my room? Really?" Alex was simply fascinated by the notion.

"I'm not certain about a real giant, Alex, but if you'd like, we'll study giants in mythology," Charles offered.

"How wonderful," Julia replied.

"Giants are real," Isabelle countered. "My mother told me all about them. One time a giant nearly cut off my father's nose, didn't it, Papa?"

"Bella, please sit quietly and wait until you're told it's time to eat." Raoul appeared increasingly flustered. It seemed to take all of his effort to make such a request, which was promptly denied.

"Giants are very loud and very mean, and they grow right before your eyes. You mustn't anger them."

"Isabelle," her father warned.

"Would anyone like more wine?" Julia asked even though not one glass was empty. She stared at me a moment but I didn't know what she expected me to do or say.

"One time a giant put a pillow over Domini's head and tried to smother her, but Papa said he found the giant and gave it a magical flower before it could—"

"Bella!"

The little girl glared at her father.

"Isabelle," Charles said lightly. "You should listen to your father when he speaks to you. He's very intelligent."

"I don't want you to speak to me."

Charles didn't even blink. He looked to de Chagny and calmly said, "Comte, with all due respect, I believe a lesson in courtesy is necessary."

"May we return home now?" Isabelle whined. "I don't like it here, and you're being very cross." Tears filled her eyes, and her father instantly apologized for raising his voice.

He kissed her forehead. "The giant won't return, my dear, I swear it."

No, it wouldn't return, I knew. The giant was dead. I considered how fortunate I was to have Alexandre in my home. Judging by this child's words, Christine had been a danger to her family as well as herself.

There was a sudden knock on the door, which stopped supper, however no one needed to leave the table to know who called.

"Yoo hoo! Oh, Julia! It's the Leaches!"

Julia excused herself and rose from the table with as much dignity as she could muster. She asked Alex and Lisette to move their chairs to fit in two more guests.

"Charles, would you say grace once we're all seated?" she asked before she walked from the dining room, not waiting for his answer.

No one said a word until Julia returned with the Leaches following on her heels. With an enormous hat perched on her head, Hermine made her grand entrance.

"I do hope we're not interrupting," she said as her brother seated her.

"Not at all," Meg murmured.

Julia looked to Raoul. "If your daughters are tired, perhaps they should lie down in my daughter's room," she said firmly.

It wasn't a suggestion. It was a request to remove them from the table, but de Chagny either didn't understand or refused to acknowledge her words. Her nervously straightened his youngest daughter's silverware before he looked up.

"I beg your pardon?"


	31. Vaudeville

Giant smooches to both Jax and HD for stepping up the plate and offering their NDBR skills not only for Erik Kire but for Belmont. Much love, ladies. Let the dinner party from hell continue.

OW31

Being Leaches, Hermine and Archie made a grand entrance. Hermine appeared as though she'd found herself in the center of the Paris stage. She stood with her hands clasped and a grin which made her wide mouth even wider than usual.

Once everyone was seated and Charles said grace, Julia looked at me sharply. I stared back at her, unable to blink lest she hurl her fork at me. Her expression was familiar to me, and I had no idea what I had done to earn it—save hold my tongue. It had taken all of my strength to remain quiet while we sat to supper. If she expected lively conversation from me, she should have reconsidered.

"This is simply lovely, Julie," Hermine said, oblivious to the expressionless faces which surrounded her. She turned to her brother. "Isn't it lovely?

"Of course it's lovely. Julie dear wouldn't have it any other way."

Julia forced a smile. "How does everything taste?"

Everyone around the table nodded—aside from the de Chagnys. Raoul was too preoccupied with keeping his daughters quiet to pay much attention to his dinner or the guests around the table.

They were hellions, no doubt. The oldest, Isabelle, continually asked to return home, and when her father answered her with a, "Not yet, my dear," or "A moment more, sweetheart," she'd squeal as though his words put her in pain.

When the youngest one began to cry, Julia glared at me, as though I had caused the outburst. I had done nothing more than look at the child before her father embraced her, shielding her from the world.

"Erik." Julia sighed heavily. It didn't bode well. "Will you assist me in the kitchen?"

"I'll help you!" Alex sprang from his seat.

"No, no, I need your father's help." She motioned for him to sit.

"But I want to help you!"

Charles coughed, unable to stop himself from laughing. I glared at him briefly and he reached for his water.

"Alex, eat your supper."

He groaned and slouched in his chair until Hermine reached over and pretended to grab his nose, a trick he hadn't fallen for since he was four years of age. He allowed her a moment of humor, however, and played victim to her feminine charm. She appeared absolutely delighted and patted him on the shoulder. At least it appeared someone was enjoying the dinner party.

Hermine wagged her finger at Julia. "You make certain you sit with us and enjoy your supper while it's hot. We won't have you running about, will we, Archie?"

"We'll tie her to her chair if need be." He looked to me as though we were conspiring.

I didn't find my tongue in time. Julia said my name again, her tone more stern.

She may as well have slipped a rope around my neck and led me directly to the killing shed as I knew nothing pleasant waited in her kitchen. I hesitated a moment, but she shifted her weight and crossed her arms. With my jaw clenched, I rose and followed her into the kitchen, expecting a verbal lashing.

It irritated me that she would consider this my fault. As I stalked after her, I prepared to give her hell. If nothing else, I had remained respectfully out of the conversation. For once, I had curbed my temper and held my tongue. What in the hell else did she want from me?

"Julia," I growled.

Her lips trembled the moment I walked in after her. With her hands on her hips, she shook her head.

"This is terrible," she whimpered. "Oh, this is simply terrible."

I agreed with her, but I knew I couldn't voice my opinion. With a grunt, I crossed my arms. "It's unexpected, not terrible."

She didn't appreciate my words. "I must be mad," she whispered to herself. Her voice trembled as she teetered on the edge of a breakdown. "My God, what was I thinking? This would never work. They'll hate me."

"Indeed."

"You should have told me not to do this."

It took a moment for her words to register. She was very upset indeed to suggest I correct her. "You've had a knife in your hand practically all afternoon."

"Do you find this amusing?" she squeaked.

I couldn't take it a moment longer. Grabbing her by the arm, I practically dragged her outside where it would be much more difficult for everyone around the table to hear us speaking.

"Erik, they'll wonder—"

"To hell with them."

My words drew a half-hearted smile to her face. At last I unclenched my jaw and sighed.

"I didn't want Monsieur de Chagny to spend this evening in his hotel." She looked at me and frowned. Her voice dropped. "Or the hotel pub. Did you notice how far away I set the bottle of wine?"

Honestly I hadn't, but I nodded. I heard one of the de Chagny brats scream and wished I had the bottle of wine in my hand, not necessarily to drink but to club their father for allowing his ill behaved children to remain at Julia's table.

"What am I going to do?"

I shrugged. "Suffer."

"Oh, Erik." A laugh escaped her. "I apologize for this—for all of this."

"You're far too friendly," I replied, my tone gruff. I drew her closer to me and searched her eyes. "Which is why I know you, isn't it?"

She nodded. "What are we going to do?"

I cocked an eyebrow at her. "We."

With a heavy sigh, she rested her forehead against my chest. "It should have only been the four of us, shouldn't it?" she whispered. "No party, no gathering…just you and Alex, me and Lisette."

"You'll get no argument from me."

She lifted her head, her expression hardened. I felt her hands push against my hips. "Is this what you wanted?"

"For you?" I shook my head and held her tighter. For once I felt I knew what was best, and what was for Julia.

The anger in her gaze subsided and she relaxed. "I suppose there's nothing to do—aside from ask the—"

Laughter from the dining room interrupted her thoughts and we both turned and stared at the façade. Julia's grasp on me loosened as she exhaled. The uproar was followed by applause, and we exchanged looks.

She visibly swallowed. "Does that sound promising?"

Taking Julia by the hand, we walked inside and heard Hermine singing…with Lisette, Alex, and the de Chagny brats. The night had transformed from mundane, uncomfortable hell to circus hell.

The moment Julia appeared in the doorway Hermine scrambled to her seat with Lisette and Alex following behind her. They giggled as they grabbed their napkins and scooted their chairs in.

"What's this?" Julia questioned.

"My routine!"

My God, the woman had a routine with which to annoy others.

"I beg your pardon?"

"For Mr. Keith." She acted as though it were common knowledge. Naturally, she would have a routine for Mr. Keith.

The mood changed, and for the remainder of supper we sat and listened to the "decent entertainment" made available in Boston. The children were held captive by Hermine—with help from Archie—explaining the glorious future she had on the moral stage.

"Mr. Keith has even gone so far as to hire a Sunday school teacher to make absolutely sure rehearsals meet the approval of a good, clean performance. He's very strict, I've heard. But he's successful—and I'm going to be his star."

Archie looked quite proud of his sister, who was heading to Vaudeville on "the first boat" as she explained. I'd missed her routine, but from the applause she'd received and the manner in which she'd managed to quiet the de Chagny brats, it must have been worth paying an American nickel.

Of course I was familiar with Mr. Keith. He had opened a museum which included Baby Alice the Midget Wonder. I shuddered at the thought of this display, but I couldn't say what this child did—if indeed it was a child. Through our newspapers in Paris I'd seen Keith boast of his performances appealing to a more genteel crowd. Americans, always rude and boisterous, needed grooming, and this was precisely his plan, especially for the middle class.

"Have you met him?" Raoul asked suddenly.

Hermine nearly dropped her peas from her fork. "Sadly, I haven't. I heard he attended the fair, but I never saw him." She batted her eyes for dramatic effect.

With a nod he sat back, his youngest child leaning against him. Her eyes were nearly closed, her rush of sugar sputtering into a wall of exhaustion. The two were much more tolerable when they appeared ready for bed.

"An interesting fellow," Raoul said under his breath.

He said nothing more.

Julia clasped her hands. "Is anyone ready for dessert? I made apple turnovers."


	32. War, Politics, and Other Unpleasantries

OW32

Hermine convinced the de Chagny brats that her routine was much more exciting than a stuffy crowd of adults discussing "politics, war, and other unpleasantries." With a wink to Lisette, she ushered the girls out of the room.

Alex, however, seemed perfectly content beside me.

"What shall we discuss first?" he asked. He folded his hands on the table and furrowed his brow.

"Economics," Charles replied. He looked at me and smirked.

"Economics," Alex agreed.

Charles cleared his throat. "In Latin."

Alex's eyes nearly fell out of their sockets. "But…why?"

"Because proper gentlemen discuss economics in Latin."

My son looked to be near death, but he was as stubborn as his father and refused to allow a language barrier to interfere with his time amongst the adults. His jaw set, he sat back and nodded as though he was fully prepared to discuss the topic at hand.

He lasted no more than five minutes before he quietly slid off his chair and slunk away. With a heavy sigh, he turned and told me good night. I had half the mind to join him as Charles and Raoul were involved in a quite boring conversation.

"I'll save you a half-slice from your father's dessert," Julia promised. She walked to him and kissed his forehead. "You and Lissy play nice with the little ones."

He blew her a kiss, promised he would be on his best behavior, and raced up the stairs, not once looking back.

"Does everyone else want a turnover?" Julia asked as she returned to the table and collected empty plates.

"I don't believe you've invited guests who would refuse anything you've made, Madame Seuratti," Charles said.

"You're too kind, Monsieur Lowry." Julia smiled, appreciating his words.

Had it not been for the war, I could have easily seen him standing by the fireplace in a roomful of university professors. He was in his element here, surrounded by people.

Meg rose to her feet and waddled around the table to collect three plates from de Chagny. His two brats had barely eaten their food, which came as no surprise. I remembered Alexandre eating two bites of his supper and then asking if he could be excused. When he irritated me I would allow him to play, but he soon learned his meal would not be served again when he wanted to eat three hours later. It made me wonder how Raoul de Chagny would handle his brood when they complained of hunger.

Their father had not eaten much of his own food either. With how little he'd spoken I expected his plate to be empty.

Julia and Meg returned to the kitchen and Archie excused himself, remarking how he should even the odds for his sister.

"Tell Julie dear to save my dessert. I haven't had one of her apple turnovers in years." With a snap of his fingers he was gone.

This left me with de Chagny and Charles, who swiftly picked up the conversation and asked the Comte if he had plans to travel.

"I should like to return home for a while," Raoul answered. He fidgeted in his seat and glanced at the clock.

"There are moments when home feels like a holiday, aren't there?"

"Not this time," he mumbled.

Charles nodded but refused to allow the conversation to die. "You must spend much of your time traveling."

"She did." He paused and refolded his napkin. There was no need to give her a name. "The girls were often left at home with their nanny."

His words struck me as abnormal, but I merely sat and listened. I was torn between wanting to hear more of their life and feeling dangerously involved with their lives.

"I trust you were always occupied with business. My apologies, Comte, but I don't recall the industry."

"Tobacco."

Charles nodded. "Virginia?"

"The plantation is in West Virginia, but I've only seen it once or twice. My brother was primary caretaker." He continued to fidget. "A cousin of mine took control in 1871 but he's too old now and has expressed interest in ridding himself of the burden."

"Abolitionists, I take it?"

"Quite proudly."

The doorbell rang and I heard Julia march down the hall. I glanced at my watch and assumed her cousin had arrived.

"The plantation might make for a pleasant change of atmosphere." Charles glanced at me. "Meg has always wanted to see New York. I told her it looked as though Chicago will bid on the next World's Fair. A holiday might be in order, especially if the architect I believe will design the buildings agrees."

"I've had enough of fairs," Raoul sighed.

A moment later Meg appeared. "Excuse me, gentleman. Julia said you will probably be more comfortable in the parlor. I just set out coffee and tea if you would like something to drink."

Charles cleared his throat and looked to the doorway but she was already gone. With wine bottle in hand, Raoul was first to leave the dining room.

"If you wouldn't mind, Monsieur," Charles said under his breath. He pushed himself away from the table and gripped the armrests.

"Which architect?" I questioned.

"Pardon me?"

"For the Americans."

"Ah, yes. Daniel Burnham."

"Never heard of him."

"He gained experience from Jenney."

"William Jenney?"

"Yes, sir. Burnham hasn't done anything impressive yet, but he's ambitious."

"Why not Adler…or Sullivan instead?"

Charles laughed to himself. "Sullivan? A year spent in Paris hardly makes him a Frenchman."

"True, but I've seen photographs of his work. He's more artistic, less afraid of venturing far from tradition."

Charles tapped on the arm of his chair. "I had forgotten you've dabbled in architecture."

"Dabbled, indeed," I grumbled. If only Charles knew my 'dabbling' he would have chosen his words with greater care.

He smiled. "The last time I saw Alfred Kite he told me he had met with Monsieur Siblee in Chicago. There's a young man there—can't be older than twenty-one years of age." He shook his finger. "Hasn't done anything memorable yet, but Monsieur Kite said the boy is determined to start his own firm. Now there is ambition, wouldn't you say?"

"Or foolishness."

"Foolishness? Indeed!" Now it was his turn to grumble.

We entered the parlor before Charles could elaborate on this nameless prodigy. The Comte had already poured himself a glass of wine and had settled himself in the armchair. The bottle was half full. I hadn't noticed if it had been full when he'd taken it from the table. On an empty stomach, I wasn't sure it mattered if he drank half a bottle or a full bottle.

"Didn't Meg mention there was tea and coffee?" Charles asked warily.

The Comte lazily pointed to the serving table. "I've never been one for coffee."

"Then perhaps a cup of tea? I believe Monsieur Leach brought some exotic choices."

"It was quite hot," Raoul murmured. He rolled wine around his glass and took a sip. "This is just the right temperature for my liking."

Charles and I exchanged glances. I didn't understand why Raoul de Chagny remained at the party. He looked completely miserable.

"The French are undoubtedly connoisseurs of wine. However, my English roots won't allow me to pass up tea, no matter if it's boiling or stone cold."

It took Raoul a moment before he realized Charles had requested a cup of tea. He hastily set down his glass of wine and reached for the hot water.

"Monsieur Kire, would you please open the door?" Meg called.

I stood, turning my back on Raoul and Charles. The moment I turned I heard the Comte curse, which was followed by sound of the carafe falling onto the silver tray.

"Have you hurt yourself?" Meg asked. She shoved the tray of turnovers into my hands and rushed into the room.

"A mere burn." Raoul shook out his hand.

"I'll find some towels."

I grabbed Meg by the arm before she waddled out of sight again. "Sit."

"But—"

"I said sit."

With a sigh she obeyed. "Tell Julia—"

"Yes, yes. Towels."

I set the tray of desserts down and noticed one apple tart was bigger than the rest. With a knowing smile, Meg moved it aside. "They're still warm."

She was serving dessert when I walked down the hall and heard Julia speaking. I had almost forgotten her cousin had arrived.

"How does he treat Lisette?" Anthony asked. It was the first of their conversation I heard.

"He treats her well."

There was a pause. "How well?"

She scoffed. "He's never had a daughter. He has a son, whom he adores. Once he knows Lissy better I'm sure he'll be more comfortable."

"And you want him more comfortable around your daughter?"

"Do I want him to treat her as his own? Of course I do, and I'm sure he expects I will treat his son as my own."

His words sickened me. My feelings for Lisette were respectable. I thought of her as Alex's playmate and Julia's daughter. Not once had I assumed anything more. My hands balled into fists.

"You're avoiding my question."

"It's a ridiculous question."

Anthony lowered his voice. "You said yourself he rarely leaves his home. A man so shut in, so introverted…you're putting him in the company of a young girl. Is it wise of you? Fair to your daughter?"

"Anthony, I'll tell you frankly what isn't fair. Her father constantly screamed at her because she was in his way, threatened her when she spilled his drinks…and hit her when she cried. She never deserved his harsh treatment."

Neither of them spoke. I glanced back to make certain Meg hadn't escaped the parlor.

"You should have at least allowed your family a moment to judge him of his worth."

"The way Louis was evaluated and found perfectly suitable?"

Anthony exhaled. "You're right to be angry about him. I just want to know if this man will treat you better. I love you very much, Julia."

I held my breath and considered rolling up my sleeves and storming into the kitchen. If he thought he would come into her home and profess his love to her…he'd regret every word.

"Anthony—"

"You were always like a younger sister to me. When Louis took you away? I wish I could have done more. I wish you and Lisette would have lived with us."

"I couldn't."

"Will he allow you your freedom?"

"Erik? He's not like Louis." She sighed. "You should sit and speak with him rather than assume he's a cruel man, Anthony. He's very intelligent, he adores his son, he's a wonderful musician."

"Oh, Julia." He chuckled. "Look at you."

"I beg your pardon." She sounded angry.

"You never once appeared this way before you married Louis."

"I'm perfectly fine. Louis—"

"Never made you happy. Or not as happy as your fiancé obviously makes you."

"I-I know."

"I want to make certain you and your daughter are taken care of, Julia. It's about damned time the Seurattis took care of their own."

Julia chuckled. "That sounds like something Uncle Luc would say."

Anthony grew very quiet.

"What is it?"

"I saw him this afternoon."

"Heavens. Where?"

"He was in his carriage. For the past week he's been sending notes to my home and to my bakery. He's not well, Julia—and it has nothing to do with his cough. If not for Muriel I think he would have been placed in an asylum."

"He's eccentric, not mad."

"I think he's leaning more toward one side." Anthony cleared his throat. "Ah, but we will speak of these matters at a different time. It's rude of me to keep you from your guests."

Before I could be caught eavesdropping I walked into the kitchen and startled both of them.

"Erik." Julia looked at me as though she knew I'd heard their conversation. "More apple tarts?"

"The Comte spilled hot water. I came for a towel."

She looked from me to her cousin, who nodded back.

"Don't mind us, Julia." He looked to me. "I was hoping we could speak in private."


	33. Surnames and Questioning

Big thanks to Jax for "no spanking cleavers". Oh, and for her help too. :-)

OW33

Once Julia left the kitchen, her cousin crossed his arms and stared at me. His expression was stern but not unpleasant. I had no idea what he wanted from me but I knew I would not be the first to speak.

At last he turned away and tapped his fingers against his forearm. "Kire," he said.

I replied with a nod. "Monsieur Seuratti."

He looked at me sharply and spelled my surname. Then, as he looked me over, he spelled my first name. "It's clever. I'm sure you've been complimented before. Or perhaps not?" he mused. "Your compositions are stamped with E.M. Kire, are they not?"

"They are."

"It seems a waste to devise such a name and not have the world know. Kire. Erik M. Kire." He said it to himself half a dozen times, his eyes narrowed in contemplation. "It isn't French. Most certainly it isn't Italian." He looked at me again. It angered me, the look in his eyes as though he knew more than I did and couldn't wait to prove it. "Then what is this name you have given yourself?"

"I am Erik. It is all I have ever been and all I desire to be."

He seemed unsatisfied with my answer and shrugged. "Did your father disown you or did you turn your back on him?"

My hands balled into fists. "My parentage is none of your damned concern."

"Ah, but it is, Monsieur." He wagged his finger at me. "For I'll have you know that Julia Falchetti—Madame Seuratti—she is my concern. I will ask again, Monsieur Erik Kire. Did your father disown you or did you—"

"My name has nothing to do with your concerns."

He studied me again, his eyes hardened, his face straight. "Your name, your true identity, it does concern me. Whoever you are, you are not a Kire. Perhaps you are a Testan. Perhaps you are a Micceli or a Vrehas." He spread his hands and sighed. "Old friends of Louis Seuratti."

"He was no friend of mine."

"A navy man, good name, good breeding. By all accounts he made a most suitable companion."

"The mark near her eye." I ground my teeth. "Perhaps to his friends, but to his wife—"

"What mark?"

"A scar beside her eye."

Again he studied me, his demeanor slightly relaxed. "Small?"

"Noticeable."

"And to her daughter?"

I shook my head. "I beg your pardon?"

"You haven't noticed if she bears a scar to her face? No marks on her arms or legs from her father?" He took a step forward. "Perhaps along her back or stomach?"

"Julia has never said a word to me."

I knew what he expected to hear and it sickened me, but far greater than my comfort was his opinion. Why it mattered I didn't know, but Anthony Seuratti would not think of me as a nameless man preying upon a widow's daughter.

"My intentions are clear, and before the end of this night yours will be as well." His tone was stern, somewhat threatening. He cracked his knuckles and stared down his nose at me. "Forgive me, but I don't trust a man who has named himself, Monsieur. Ties are normally broken when a man has much to hide from others."

"When I wanted to be known, Monsieur Seuratti, I gave myself a name."

He didn't reply. I turned to see what he was intently staring at and found Julia in the doorway. By her expression alone I knew she had heard a portion of our conversation.

"Gentlemen, perhaps you would care to join my guests in the parlor?"

Anthony smiled warmly at her. "I apologize for my rude behavior. Yes, of course, we would love to join the rest."

"Good. The children have all fallen asleep and Monsieur Lowry has a story to tell."

"A war story?" I questioned.

She looked at me and smiled. "No, I'm afraid not. It's about Alexandre. He's waiting for you to return."

-o-

Both Meg and Hermine were laughing once we entered the parlor. Archie stood with one arm resting on the mantle as he snapped to the beat and Hermine sang a tune—which she later revealed she'd written.

"What do you think of my song, Monsieur Kire?" She batted her eyelashes in the same manner as Lisette. It was becoming dreadfully impossible to tell one from the other.

"Interesting."

She squealed in delight and asked her brother if he'd heard the good news.

"Those Americans will love it, Meanie, old girl." He gave me a wink as though he was glad for my approval. For all intents and purposes, "interesting" was not approval.

I sighed and looked to Julia, who sat beside de Chagny. It surprised me that he hadn't excused himself for the night, especially since it appeared that Julia had removed his bottle of wine. Apparently sober, he sat back with his hands folded in his lap and the same sullen, bewildered expression he'd worn each time I'd seen him as of late.

"West Virginia would be good for you and the girls," I overheard Julia say to him. "Especially with a familiar face or two."

My eavesdropping was cut short as I felt someone staring. I didn't need to turn my head to know it was Anthony. As Charles started his tale concerning Alex, I wondered if Anthony had ever confronted Louis. Max had never bothered, but Anthony—despite his questioning—seemed somewhat more admirable to me.

"And so there he was, completely straight-faced, with Bessie sitting in my old chair. She had on this hat—Meg, you remember the one?"

Meg nodded. I never realized how much she beamed whenever Charles was near her.

"And there's this short, stout dog with her sad eyes looking at me as though she couldn't be happier to see someone else. I look at Alex, I look at Bessie, and eventually I ask why there is a dog in my seat. The boy doesn't miss a beat when he answers."

Charles paused and looked at Meg, who hung on his every word.

"'Uncle Charles,' he says to me. 'Grand-mere said I wouldn't finish my assignment unless I was hounded'." He looked ready to bust a seam. "And he looks me in the eye and says, 'I have the hound, but I still haven't finished.'"

It was ridiculous and I questioned the truth in his words, but I shook my head and found myself chuckling. At last the tension in the air had eased, and when I looked to Julia I knew this is what she had wanted all along: Laughter in the air and a room full of friends.

Nearly lost in the uproar, I heard Alex call for me. With a nod to Julia I excused myself. Halfway up the stairs I heard the parlor door open and footsteps down the hall. It wasn't Julia who followed. My tension rose.


	34. Letter from the Dead

OW

When I walked into the upstairs bedroom and turned up the lamp, I discovered Lisette and Isabella were both asleep in Lisette's bed. Alex sat in a rocking chair with Domini sound asleep in his arms. Her little head rested against his chest, her tiny hands wrapped around his arm.

He smiled when I entered the room. "She likes me."

"I see."

"But she's terribly heavy. She wasn't this heavy ten minutes ago. I'm certain of it."

"Dead weight," I commented quietly.

With a grimace he managed to remove his arm from beneath her tiny body. "Oh, she's not dead, Father. She's asleep. I rocked her."

"It's merely an expression." I watched him place her into bed beside Lisette and Isabella. Like a litter of kittens they curled up together.

His brow knit. "Such as when Monsieur Leach said he felt like a newborn calf, which is impossible because he's not a cow. A cow is a girl. He'd have to be a bull. Or a steer if he's been castrated."

"True enough."

"I saw a bull castrated. The man tied up its back legs, made an incision, and popped out the—"

"Aren't you tired?"

He frowned. "No."

"Well, you should be exhausted. Since the girls are asleep, why don't you return home?"

His chest puffed out. "Grand-mere…" he whispered.

At once he became quite protective of Madeline, most likely remembering she had a guest for the evening and an empty house at her disposal.

"Knock before you enter," I reminded him.

"But it's my house. I never have to knock."

"Alex."

He groaned, which was becoming his infamous sound for everything that disagreed with him. One sharp glance silenced him. He gazed at his half-sisters and the child who would soon enough be his step-sister. I couldn't tell for certain, but he looked remorseful.

"You are tired, just as I suspected. Wash your face and let the dog outside. And don't give Madeline trouble." I'd never hear the end of it if Alex walked in on a private moment.

"Do you think Aunt Meg and Uncle Charles will allow me to hold their baby?" he asked.

"I suspect they will."

"Do you think I could ask Meg if she would have a daughter?"

"You could ask, but I'm certain they will choose as they desire."

Questions passed through his gaze, inquiries I was not prepared to answer about the origins of little boys and girls. A belly full of dirt would be disproved soon enough. But, not tonight, I decided.

"You should consider yourself fortunate, whether you find yourself with a niece or a nephew."

His lips parted and eyes widened. "No matter what, I'll be an uncle!" He was terribly thrilled with the thought, and with his usual exuberance he raced across the room and flung his arms around me. "Good night, Father. I must hurry home and practice." His voice lowered and he looked me in the eye. "_My music_."

"Yes." I nodded.

"You must compose a lullaby for my niece or nephew."

"I had no idea my creativity was at your mercy, Alexandre."

He chuckled to himself, the little imp. "Then I'll write it."

"Indeed." Inside I struggled with both pride and jealousy. If he pursued music as a vocation I had no doubt he would best me in ten years.

With one last devilish smile he trotted down the stairs. Before I turned to leave, Lisette sat up and yawned.

"Good night, Monsieur Kire."

"Good night, Mademoiselle Seuratti."

She lay on her side and smiled. Her eyes fluttered shut. "May I call you Papa when you and my mother are married, or do you prefer Father?"

"What did you call your father when you were smaller?"

Her brow furrowed, eyes remained shut. "I don't recall. But you aren't my father. You'd be…" She grunted in concentration and her left eye popped open. "You'd be Papa." A giggle escaped her. She was as devilish as her future brother. "Papa Kire."

"Daughter Lissy," I replied.

She glared at me. "Oh, Mother! She simply tells everyone everything. Honestly! I am Lisette. I insist."

Her words and the manner in which she spoke were taken straight from Hermine Leach's mouth. Without argument, I offered a bow. "Daughter Lisette, then. Good night."

"Good night, Papa Kire." She blew me a kiss and nestled in for the night.

For a moment longer I watched the three girls before I turned down the lamp. "Oh, Charles, for your sake I hope you have a son. Girls are far too much trouble."

Before I turned I felt someone staring at me and knew I was not alone upstairs. My hands balled into fists. If that bastard had decided to follow me, he'd have hell to pay. Not once had I ever considered mistreating Lisette, but Julia's pig-headed cousin remained skeptical. I resented defending myself against him when he knew nothing of me. Perhaps my fist to his face would jar sense into him.

Swiftly I removed my overcoat and set it over a chair. I wrestled with my shirt cuffs until I had them pulled up to my elbows. He probably thought he was clever to hide from Alex as he bolted down the stairs and out the door. He'd underestimated me greatly—which was a mistake he wouldn't likely make twice.

The floor in the hallway creaked and I turned on my heel. My ghostly silence returned as I strode across the room and entered the darkened hallway. A broad-shouldered, featureless shadow appeared, one which I jabbed in the throat to silence him.

"I do not appreciate eavesdropping," I said through my teeth as I shoved him toward the end of the hallway. With one glance over my shoulder I made certain I heard voices from the parlor and no footsteps approaching. Satisfied, I turned toward my spy and prepared to cover his mouth and shove him into the closest room.

Instantly I pulled my hand back as I recognized who I had caught. We blinked at one another, his eyes watery from the blow to the throat, mine narrowed.

"You damned fool," I spit.

The Vicomte attempted to step away but hit the back of his head against the wall. From the corner of my eye I saw another figure at the bottom of the stairs, who turned and walked out of sight. Without looking I knew it was Anthony Seuratti.

My jaw twitched as I continued to stare through the meddlesome boy. He coughed into the crook of his arm.

"Why in the hell are you sneaking about in Madame Seuratti's home?"

He fished into his pocket, his gaze nervously flitting in the darkness. "I have something for you."

"I want nothing from you."

My words didn't deter him. He pulled an envelope from his pocket and smoothed the wrinkles. He stared at it in the darkness, his lips pursed. Slowly he brought it to his chest and briefly pressed it to his overcoat.

"This belongs to you," he said softly.

His hand extended to me. I hesitated to accept his offering, but the temptation was too great. At once I snatched it from his hand.

The moment I saw my name on the front I regretted what I had done. Until the day I died I would remember how Christine wrote my name, the forward slant of the letters, the barely visible dot over the letter 'I'.

"Why?" I demanded. My free hand balled into a fist and I stepped forward.

This time he didn't flinch. He seemed strangely calm. His expression had changed, his posture straighter and eyes clear. No longer was he a confused drunkard mourning the death of his wife.

"Nothing will bring her back into my life. Perhaps for a week more the linens will smell of her essence. Perhaps the recordings of her performances will do her voice justice. Perhaps just one more night I will close my eyes and still remember every detail of her face, the exact color of her eyes. It doesn't matter. She is gone now, and I will certainly not find her anywhere…not a stage or a wine glass."

"That doesn't answer my question."

Anger flashed through his eyes, followed by a hint of grief. Inhaling, he nodded and his features softened. "Because it belongs to you, and finally I can allow you to have it."


	35. Alone with Christine

OW35

"For days I have carried this envelope with me. But you are the true recipient. I feel her…watching me now." He paused until I looked him in the eye.

"Then what would she say if she saw you hand this to me?" I said, demanding more than asking.

With a deep inhale, he nodded. "It no longer matters what she would say. This must be done. For both of us."

He started to extend his hand and then stopped. His charity had reached its end. I felt somewhat relieved.

"Goodbye, Monsieur Kire and good luck to you." He glanced past me at the bedroom where his daughters slept. "Your son, he will be a good man."

I merely nodded, uncertain of what he wanted to hear from me.

"You will return home?" I asked when he remained silent.

"France," he sighed, "I'm afraid my home no longer holds its charm."

"Away from here?" I questioned.

"Far away from here. An ocean, at least, away from this place and these memories."

Words escaped me. Was this a token of peace or a stab to the chest? I knew nothing of his intentions. Had our places been exchanged I would have kept every facet of her life under lock and key, cherished every scrap of paper she wrote upon.

But he was different, and now I knew why he had staggered through the streets. It was more her memory than drink that made him stumble.

I didn't know he had walked from the hall until I looked up and found myself alone with Christine's note in hand. He must have already sent for his carriage so that he could take his daughters home and prepare for the funeral.

For a long time I stood and examined the tattered envelope, my fingers pressing firmly into the paper. I turned it over and found the seal unbroken, the contents unread. My breathing quickened at the thought of what I held. Despite my trepidation, I stared until my eyesight blurred.

A full decade of my life had been dedicated to her and the hope she would recognize me, grace me with one single, claiming glance. Every letter I sent her had gone unanswered, and though it was a jagged pill, I wondered if she saved them or tore them up.

Secretly I hoped and prayed for her to read each carefully chosen word, to know that every sentence was cut from my soul, bled into the pen, and crafted for her. But she had not recognized my affection for her, my willingness to die at her feet rather than live alone. And when I saw her through the mirror I knew she'd look anywhere but my face, love anyone but me.

Foolishly I clung to the paper, both fascinated and horrified. She was dead. My future bride was alive—and I was standing in her home.

I started to crumple the envelope but stopped when I saw movement at the bottom of the stairs.

"Alex returned home?" Julia questioned as she held onto the banister.

I stuffed the letter into my pocket and met her on the stairs. "A moment ago." I avoided her eyes, afraid she'd see the betrayal in mine. "He was nearly asleep when he called for me."

"Nothing wrong, I hope."

"Domini had fallen asleep on him."

She placed her hand over her heart and smiled. I felt her other hand wrap around me as she placed her head against my chest. I could barely bring myself to hold her. Most certainly she would feel it in my arms, the weight of a past that not even death could stop.

"He and Lisette will make such wonderful siblings. Between the two of them, I wonder if we'd get to see our own child." She reached up and touched my cheek. "You're so quiet. Anthony will leave soon and then we can speak."

I didn't say a word. It wasn't Anthony that concerned me—though he damned well should have been in my forethought. Instead he'd been replaced. By her.

"Erik?"

Julia looked at me, her eyes narrowed. "What is it? What did he say?"

"He's concerned about Lisette."

She nodded. "Yes, well…"

Meg tapped on the wall like a shy little mouse and drew Julia's attention away. "We wanted to say goodbye…to both of you. It's been a lovely evening, but I'm terribly exhausted. I apologize."

Julia flew down the stairs to embrace Meg. "You've no reason to apologize. You and Charles must promise to attend another party after the baby is born." She glanced back at me. "Wasn't it lovely to have Meg and Charles join us?"

I nodded half-heartedly and felt my pocket to make certain the note had not fallen out. Both Julia and Meg walked toward the front door and I heard Archie and Charles in conversation. Moments later they returned home but I hardly noticed. My comfortable world slowly abandoned me, and like a fool I allowed it.

If it hadn't been for Archie announcing he had another friend to visit I would have remained on the stairs all night. Hermine asked the Vicomte if he would walk her home. He had little choice in the matter since she handed him his coat and hat and practically grabbed his arm, telling him she wanted to go over the finer details of her routine.

"I'm making coffee," Julia said to me. She grasped my arm gently and looked me over with an expression of deep concern. "Will you stay a while longer?"

I nodded and she forced a smile. Her fingers brushed along my sleeve before she finally turned. Alone, I wandered into the parlor and stared at the empty service tray. The house was quiet, save for Julia and Anthony speaking in the kitchen.

I should have been at her side, but I stayed where my feet had taken me. The remnants of her dinner party were my only companions in the form of a half-empty wine bottle, a tray of cookie crumbs, and several teacups. Most of her guests had returned home after thanking Julia and telling them what a wonderful party she hosted.

Yet I hid from her, from my fiancé.

A shiver ran up my spine as I touched the envelope. There was no warmth in the room despite a blazing fire in the hearth. Shame had chilled my soul, blackened the edges of my heart.

"My God," I whispered to the letter.

My hands had started to tremble as I clutched the paper. A note in my name, meant for me. How long ago had she written this? Was she well or was she sick and hurting? The thoughts that scurried through my mind sickened me. She was another man's dead wife. I should have been at peace, able to release her at last, and yet I felt more tangle in her memory than ever. She acknowledged me, which she'd done so rarely. Even in her death she allowed me a scrap of hope. For this I both loved and hated her—and feared that she would rip it away just as swiftly as she gave me hope.

Julia tapped on the door and I turned to see her enter. "Anthony offered to help Monsieur de Chagny take his children to the carriage. Do you…what's this?"

Her gaze was fixed on the note in my hands. Without hesitation, I turned to face her and dropped my hands to my sides.

"It's a letter," I answered.

She blinked. "A letter? For me?"

My insides twisted. I couldn't bear to look her in the face a moment longer. Barely able to breathe, I stared at the fire. "It's from Christine."


	36. On Paper, In Flesh

Erik Notes: Fondest salutations, gentle readers. If you are not reading the Giver of Life vignettes by my muse, I strongly implore you to study these stories with the utmost attention you are capable of giving.

It has been many months since I have had the opportunity to address you directly. Please be assured I have not forgotten you. With wedding plans and operas to write, I have been quite occupied. I dare say I will drop by again soon.

OW36

Her patience and understanding with me had come to an abrupt end. Her face hid it well, her expression remained relaxed and pleasant. But her eyes had narrowed and she twisted her engagement ring. I watched her carefully, expecting her to remove the band from her finger.

My lips parted though I had no words for her. I was certain she could find her own.

"From Christine?" she questioned valiantly. "You carried it with you tonight?"

There was pain in her voice that her expression could not mask.

I glanced from her to the envelope and exhaled. "No."

"Then you brought it with you? To our party?"

"No, I didn't bring it here. It's…it's not exactly mine."

She took a deep breath and blew air past her lips. "Not exactly," she mumbled.

Her words made me wince. My past lay in my hands. Christine was a reluctant student whom I'd thought I couldn't live without. She was breath and blood, sight and sound. I gave her credit for my ability to taste wine and feel the rose's thorn.

But I learned that I gave her far too much credit, and she'd never given me a damned thing in return. I was her obedient dog on a very short leash. All the years I'd thought I held control of her life would have been better spent controlling my own—and finding what was real.

"Julia, her husband—"

"Did you show him? Is that why he decided to leave so abruptly?"

"Of course he saw it." I watched anger flash through her eyes. I should have stepped back from her but instead I stepped forward. At last, I stepped toward her, not away. "He handed it to me when he came upstairs to check on his daughters."

"He gave you a letter from his dead wife?" she asked incredulously.

"I'm telling you the truth."

"Why would he do such a thing?"

"How the hell should I know? The irritating bastard handed it to me, said he needed to give this to me. Perhaps it will bring him peace."

She remained unconvinced. Her arms folded across her chest and she stared at the ground. "Does it bring you peace?"

Far from it, I thought. Whenever Christine's essence was near there was no peace in my life.

"I haven't opened it. Here, look." I held it out to her so she would believe me. "It's still sealed."

She shook her head but I still handed it to her. Lips pursed, she examined the front briefly. She appeared surprised when she turned it over and gazed at the wax seal.

"Then I have interrupted you." She sounded more angered than upset when she held out the note. Her expression now matched her voice, for which I couldn't blame her.

Reluctantly I accepted the envelope. We stood in silence for a moment, the fire crackling at my back, the flames warming her otherwise cold features.

"You haven't interrupted me."

She shrugged and raked her hand through the end of her long hair. "Of course I have. Far be it from me to intrude upon your private reading."

"Julia—"

"No, I understand. It's yours, and I'm being petty. Excuse me, Erik, but I'll be in the kitchen with Anthony if you need anything. He wanted to say goodnight to Lissy before he left. If you care to join us…"

Before she could turn from me, I grabbed her arm. "Listen to me!"

The tone of my voice made her jump. Once I was certain she wouldn't run—or slap me—I released her.

"I didn't ask for this. He handed it to me and walked away without any further explanation. I don't know what the hell to do with it. I don't want it and I don't want her, but…" I shook my head. "But I do."

She frowned. "I know. I expected as much." She took a small step forward and I could smell her perfume. "I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to know what she's written."

I glanced from her to the envelope and felt the desire to crumple it up. What I held was merely paper, what I longed to hold was flesh and blood. I refused to chase a fantasy a moment longer, to dwell over what was never mine.

"What does it matter?" I muttered under my breath.

"Excuse me?"

"Whatever it says, it's not from you. I don't care what she's written, be it truth or lies." My hand balled into a fist and I prepared to tear it to shreds, but Julia stopped me. Our eyes met.

"Don't do this for my sake," she whispered. "If you must know, then know."

"I've made up my mind."

"Erik—"

Without a word I grabbed her round the waist and drew her to me, kissing her so hard I felt her breath leave her lungs in a harsh exhale. She stiffened a moment, alarmed by my sudden display of affection, but just as swiftly she melted into my grasp and brought her hands to my face. With great tenderness she removed my mask and kissed my cheek.

"You don't have to do this. She was important to you." Her gaze lowered. "But I'm still very jealous of her. I'm ashamed to admit it."

I continued to hold her tight as I nuzzled her neck, planted kisses along her throat. Never was I more relieved to hold her.

"It's done," I whispered.

She met my eye, ran her fingers down my cheek. "What do you mean?"

She followed my gaze to the hearth and the wisp of smoke from the burning seal. Her hand squeezed my hip gently.

"Her memory exhausts me," I said under my breath. "Perhaps now I will no longer think of her."

"I will light a candle for her tonight," Julia murmured. "For her and her family."

I kissed the side of her head but didn't reply. My heart was still racing, my arms unable to hold her tight enough. Again I kissed her, first on the temple, then on the cheek. She tilted her head, allowed me to kiss her mouth. The kiss deepened into something more primal than innocent, and had I not heard Alex's voice I would not have stopped.

"Damn it, he needs a bell," I grumbled as I peeled my hands away from her. I managed to steal one last kiss before she murmured that Anthony was still in her home and that he'd be leaving soon enough.

"Alex, your father is right here," Julia called out. She made a pile of dishes, which she quickly shoved into my arms, then rummaged through the desk.

"What am I supposed to do with these?"

"Take them to the kitchen. And clean them."

I was about to protest when Alex walked into the parlor and crossed his arms. For emphasis he shifted his weight and sighed heavily. "Disgusting!" he spat.

"Excuse me?"

"Grand-mere and—and _the tailor_."

By the sound of his voice it was scandalous. Julia and I exchanged looks.

"Didn't you knock as I told you to?"

He nodded. "He said he stole a kiss and I told him he better give it back or I'd roll up my sleeves." He shook his fist in the air, his mouth forming a straight line of utter contempt. "Do you know what he did, Father?"

I chuckled to myself. "What did he do?"

He looked about ready to burst. "He laughed at me."

"Oh…well…"

Julia stepped in and put her arm around Alex. "Will a cookie make you feel better?"

His features softened. "I doubt it," he grumbled. "But there's no harm in trying, is there?"

Julia looked at me from the corner of her eye and smiled. "Of course not."

She ushered him out of the room and I followed once my mask was in place. Her cousin stood at the end of the hall with his coat and hat in hand.

"I'll be right with you, Anthony," she said. She glanced upstairs and I followed her gaze. "Lissy, why are you out of bed?"

"Goodbye, Uncle Anthony," Lisette mumbled from the top of the stairs. She waved and dragged herself back to bed, ignoring her mother's question.

"It seems like only yesterday you brought her into my store and she was learning to walk," Anthony mused.

"I'm afraid she'll be looking for an engagement by next Tuesday with how she's grown."

Anthony shrugged into his coat. "Thank you for a lovely evening, Julia." He turned to Alex and extended his hand. "Good night, young man."

"Not particularly."

Anthony stared at Alex briefly, then turned his attention to me. "You look as though you could use a bit of fresh air, Monsieur."

I suppose that was his invitation.

A moment later Julia brought my coat. She shoved something into the pocket and smiled when she handed it to me. "I'd just as soon have Alex stay here for the night, if you wouldn't mind. I hate to think of him wandering back and forth between houses at this hour."

I grunted in agreement. "I'll return shortly."

With that she took Alex to the kitchen and I walked her cousin outside. Hermine and Raoul were loading the children into the carriage. Only Hermine turned to wave when I closed the door behind me. Already it felt too hot to bother with an overcoat and cravat.

"Monsieur," Anthony said once we were out of earshot. "I'd like to discuss what Lisette said to me this evening."

"Concerning?"

"Why, concerning you, of course."


	37. Bled from the Soul

Just as an FYI so no one freaks out: It will be probably two or three weeks before this story is updated again because I have to write a couple more Giver of Life vignettes in order for this next chapter to make sense. Thanks for your understanding and for the reviews. So good to see more readers coming out of the woodwork!

Oh, and in case you didn't see it: I have an interview online with Gordon L. Stamper Jr, a journalist and friend of mine. The link should be on my website (it's in the blog for sure). Follow the link if you want to read.

Thanks!

Gabrina

* * *

**Bled from the Soul**

OW37

We walked to the end of the street in silence, which made me wish I had Bessie as company. She would have been a more worthwhile companion for the night.

From the corner of my eye I watched Anthony. He had a sure but casual way about him that irritated me, as though his intentions were for nothing more than a pleasant stroll.

"A beautiful evening," he said.

"Average," I replied.

"The humidity has passed."

To that I grunted. "Not completely."

The Comte's carriage horses clip-clopped past us, and as I glanced up I saw Hermine waving through the window. With a nod I acknowledged her and she finally closed the curtain, leaving de Chagny to entertain her—or toss her from his carriage.

Anthony clasped his hands and abruptly stopped. "This is far enough."

I grit my teeth at his words, my hands immediately balling into fists. My treacherous encounter in an alley was not far enough behind me that I would allow anyone to lead me far away, especially unarmed. Without a word I searched the darkness, expecting he had friends laying in wait. I was certain I could tussle with at least three men if they dared to approach me.

"Monsieur—"

"What in the hell do you want from me?" I snapped.

He rolled his tongue along the inside of his cheek, casually ignoring my outburst. "From you? Nothing. Lisette has told me quite enough."

My heart stuttered, but I kept a straight face and nodded. What could she have told him? Certainly she was too young to realize I had killed her father. If she was old enough to remember I had strangled him then she had to know I had done it for her mother's safety, for their well-being. Selfless, I thought. I had acted selflessly to protect her, despite years of telling myself I had done it to save my music.

"She is fond of you," he stated. "However, I had my doubts concerning her motivation."

"You expected me to bribe a child?"

"Bribe? Absolutely not. Little girls are often fond of the men in their lives, for the wrong reasons."

I paused, my fingers on my cufflinks. "She knows me as Alexandre's father. They are playmates. I have never had lecherous notions toward the child."

"Ah, yes. She knows Alexandre," he mused. "It seems he's the perfect brother to her. He's obnoxious, caring, playful, and a ball of endless energy."

"You insult my son."

His expression never faltered. "Quite the contrary, Monsieur. He's a boy. He should be obnoxious, playful, and a ball of endless energy, night and day. It's the caring which surprised me—and his…manners. Some would argue that he's more barbarian than gentleman, what with the barrage of questions he throws at adults."

"What in the hell does that mean?"

"He has an excellent tutor. And he's quite fearless. I find that admirable in a young man, but with all I've heard concerning Charles Lowry it really comes as no surprise. Many families employ tutors. You seem to have acquired the entire Oxford library. It's impressive. Your son is fortunate."

I felt it was a backhanded compliment at best, but I merely nodded.

"Lissy's played with him for years, and I've seen him quite often," he continued.

"How?" I demanded.

"Julia has brought Lissy and Alex to my bakery on quite a few occasions."

I hadn't realized Julia had taken him to the bakery.

"And when Lissy wants a complimentary treat she is never without a companion."

"Is this why you have insisted upon this walk?" I sneered.

He crossed his arms. A now prominent vein on his forehead was the only indication of his mounting frustration. "You are quite an unpleasant conversationalist. I had hoped we could speak like proper gentleman."

"What is your question regarding my son?"

He looked away and tapped his fingers on his arm. His silence unnerved me and I took a step forward, more than prepared to ask him again.

"My inquiry is not about your son. It's about you."

"You will not question me. I will marry Julia whether you approve or not. You—"

"Oh, shut up a moment and listen," he snapped.

"Listen? Listen to what? You've said absolutely nothing of consequence since you opened your mouth."

"I've mentioned your son and Julia's daughter. You consider that nothing?"

I wondered if he'd "consider it nothing" if I wrapped my hands around his neck and strangled him on the street corner. One more remark from him and I would leave his corpse for stray dogs to feast on.

I cracked my knuckles. "No matter what I answer, you'll take my words out of context. I'm quite familiar with the lowly ways of the Seurattis."

He watched me a moment before he took a step back. "The ways of the Seurattis. You mean to insult me?"

"I intend to call you what you are, a Seuratti."

"Yes, I am, but you compare me to the only Seuratti you know, which was my cousin. Perhaps he is not the best example of our family."

"I've met a Falchetti as well and have yet to be impressed."

He chuckled softly, mocking me. "Max has never impressed me either. He has lungs filled with enough hot air to warm this city, but his heart? Well, if he's got one…I haven't seen it."

"I have few concerns for you family, whether they're Falchettis, Seurattis, or Testans."

"What about your family?" he challenged.

"What about my family?" It empowered me, this ability to say I had a family. If he dared to insult them—from Charles to Madeline, Alex or even Aria—I'd kill him. His words concerning me made little difference. However, I would not tolerate any man speaking ill of my family.

"Not the Giry and not the Kires, whoever the hell they are. What about the Kimmers?"

My lips parted, deceiving my outward appearance. The onset of rage disappeared, swiftly replaced by bewilderment.

Kimmer. That was a surname I had not heard in many years, one which I had never expected to hear ever again. It had been quite some time since I'd felt the ache in my heart that name had branded within me. Suddenly I realized it had never healed, never left the deepest corner of my consciousness.

Kimmer. Did I say it aloud or was it all in my mind? There many days when I wondered if he had ever existed, a bandage to my ever-damaged mind. As the years passed his memory leaked from the hole he'd left in my heart, in my life. I thought I had drained my soul of him when really, truly…I had become him.

Had I been alone I would have wept.

"Ah, so the name is familiar to you after all?" he questioned when I didn't offer a reply. "I wasn't certain you would know it."


	38. Old Valgarde

OW38

"How?" I questioned, my throat so dry I could barely speak.

"Pardon me?"

"Don't play the ignorant bastard, Monsieur Seuratti." My hands balled into fists, which was all I could do to stop myself from strangling the words I wished to hear out of his damned mouth. "How do you know this name?"

"The same could be asked of you, Monsieur." He allowed the last word to hang in the air, an unfinished title. My title.

"Tell me," I growled.

"Or what? Do you intend to murder me on the street corner?"

I glanced across the street and considered the alley. His mocking words could have easily earned him a shallow, unmarked grave. He was fortunate I sought answers and wasn't sure if I could find them elsewhere. His knowledge saved his miserable life.

"Valgarde Joshua Kimmer."

My heart threatened to stop. Stories, mere legends, crawled into my mind. I remembered the name Joshua, knew his younger brother's name better as I had claimed it as my middle name. Matthew, the one who was born with a twisted spine, and his brother Joshua had long been a mystery to me. They were my faceless cousins, conjured into existence by their father's tales.

"Dead?" I questioned without looking at Anthony.

"He was nearly killed some time ago. Tragic fire had him trapped within a building. Fortunately he was saved. Old Valgarde is tenacious as they come. I imagine the flames would have spit him out."

"You know him?" Still I didn't look at him, couldn't bring myself to face anyone. I didn't know what to think, much less what to do or say. In my own son I had a family. With Julia and Lisette I had a future. But with this entity, this Valgarde Joshua Kimmer…I had a past.

I had never desired a past.

"Some day I hope to know him better."

Jealousy thrashed within me. I glanced at him briefly, then looked away. "He's a Parisian?"

"For a man who will not look me in the eye you expect much, Erik…Kire."

He meant it as an insult but I disregarded his snide comment and surveyed the neighborhood. The streets were quiet, save for the sound of a horse-drawn carriage a street or two away. Julia's house was dark, aside the light from her parlor window. I stared at the window for a long while and hoped for a comforting glimpse of her. I felt like a plant in the shade, longing for a ray of light. The name Kimmer had wilted me on the inside.

"You are unfamiliar with him."

I didn't know if it was a question or a statement, but I nodded. The last time I had heard of him I was a boy of thirteen. Thirty years had passed. How familiar could I be with a man I had never met nor communicated with in my life?

"Is he well?" I blurted out.

Anthony was slow to reply. "Why the concern over a man you do not know?"

"I knew his father." The words left my mouth before I had put any consideration into my revelation. "I knew him…briefly."

Too briefly. Though he hadn't entered my mind in recent years, I had carried him with me. With each breath I felt I honored and dishonored him, allowed him to live a day longer, yet killed him with my own hands.

No longer concerned with Anthony, I turned away from him and considered returning home for the night. I felt like staring into candlelight until the bright glow temporarily blinded me. It was then that I hoped to see his face again…this man who had first given me life.

"What sort of man was he?"

I paused. "Did you know him?"

"I did not."

"Then why do you question me about a man you never knew?"

He chuckled softly. "Because for all the years I grew up alongside Louis I never truly knew him. He was always a pompous ass. Both he and Max were much the same—and I regret to admit I was far too much like both of them."

"You must truly enjoy the sound of your own voice," I sneered.

He ignored my words and stared at me, his tongue pushing along the inside of his bottom lip. "Whereas both Max and Louis were fond of Grandfather Falchetti, I never cared for the man. There was always a certain way about him which I never cared for."

"He was a Falchetti man. What other reason would one need?"

"It wasn't until after he died that I learned their beloved grandfather hanged two Mulato boys trespassing on his land," he said, ignoring me. "Two of many deaths, I'm certain."

"Fascinating." As if I needed another reason to find the men in his family repulsive.

"I know Joshua. I know his family."

I could no longer breathe. An entire world existed that I had never heard of before now.

"But I don't know you, and what bothers me is the possibility of my cousin marrying a man so undignified that he refuses his family name."

"I never refused them anything," I snarled. His eyes widened at my outburst, which made me realize how loudly I'd spoken. Gaze lowered, I flexed my hands. "I never knew him."

"Do you wish to know him?" Anthony inquired, his voice soft and even.

I glanced over my shoulder at him, my heart sitting in my chest like a boulder. The dormant feelings wedged in my heart and head threatened to burst free. "I have not yet decided."

A door slammed, the sound echoing in the night. I looked toward Julia's house and saw her walking toward us.

"His daughter works in my bakery. Her name is Elizabeth."

He had a daughter. I wondered if she was the young woman we had seen in his shop.

"Monsieur, I have two reasons for confronting you. As you are aware, I worry for Julia and Lisette."

"Why now?"

"Because now I feel as though I am better able to look after her." He paused, the corners of his eyes creasing. "And I'm unwilling to turn and look the other way, especially now that Lisette is nearing an age where she's more of a young woman than a little girl."

To me she was still a little girl. I hoped for my own sake that she would stay a little girl for at least another ten years because I was unwilling to consider her as anything else. "Young woman" sounded like trouble, especially when I thought of the male equivalent: young men.

"However, I consider myself a better judge of character than I was five, ten years ago. For as unpleasant as you seem now, I've noted the manner in which you speak to Julia and interact with Lisette. How you treat both of them seems genuine."

I wasn't about to hold my breath for a compliment. Raising my chin, I waited for him to insult me and justify my fist breaking his damned nose.

"But, I have approached you not only to inquire about Julia and Lisette. I am also here on behalf of Joshua Kimmer."

I glanced past him, expecting to either see a carriage down the street or a man walking toward us. In the back of my mind I still remembered the sound of footsteps accompanied by a cane, still smelled pipe tobacco in the air.

"Why would he send you?"

"He has spent many years following your career. Apparently, Uncle Luc has made you a celebrity of sorts. The more he berates you, the more Old Valgarde has remained a champion in your corner."

"If he has followed my career then why has he never contacted me?"

"I've never asked, though I suppose I should have been prepared for your voracious suspicions. Monsieur, I am here because he wished for me to ask you one question, not for me to field two dozen inquires from you."

Julia trotted faster down the street, but she was still too far away to hear our exchange. I stared at Anthony and nodded. "What does he want from me?"

"He wants to know if you are like your father."

"I was like my uncle," I answered swiftly, without considering his question.

I couldn't bring myself to say I was still like him. In my heart, I knew he would not have thought fondly of the ghost I had become.


	39. The Past and the Future

I haven't had a chapter in about two weeks but this is a rather long one. Thanks for reviewing. :-)

OW39

"It's too late for you both to be standing on the corner like a pair of vagrants. Anthony, you should return home. Erik, you have a hundred tasks to complete before noon tomorrow," Julia huffed.

She grabbed me by the arm and looked into my eyes, her frustration clear. I thought it best to hold my tongue, lest she rip it from my throat.

"Good night, Cousin," Anthony said, his tone pleasant. "I will deliver your cake on Monday morning."

Julie feigned a yawn. "Yes, well, it's so late that I'll never remember what you've said. Send a note tomorrow evening to remind me."

"Elizabeth will pay you a visit. She enjoys leaving the confinement of my bakery every chance that arises."

"Fine," she said impatiently. "Good night."

She practically dragged me to her house, muttering under her breath the entire journey to her front door. Once inside, she slammed it shut and turned to face me. In preparation to counter her wrath, I raised both hands in surrender.

"He has no right to question my daughter," she seethed.

"Excuse me?"

"He comes into my home, during my party, and questions my daughter. How dare he act as though he has dominion over my life!"

"Indeed," I said merely for the sake of commenting.

"Oh, he's simply maddening! For all of his good intentions, I want nothing to do with him. He nearly made Lissy sick to death with all of his questions." She stormed off toward the kitchen and I had no choice but to follow.

"She doesn't need him badgering her. It will give her nightmares." Julia gave a growl and began scrubbing dishes, muttering all the while.

With little else to add to the conversation, I stood with my back to the wall and watched her. She seemed to want nothing to do with her cousin, whereas I needed to speak with him—or at least obtain an address for Valgarde Kimmer.

If I had his address I could walk past his house, and if I knew which house perhaps I could see him one day. The image of his father was still clearly etched in my mind. If he looked anything like his father, I'd easily spot him. My intentions, however, were not to speak with him. All I desired was a glimpse.

"Aren't you going to agree with me?" Julia snapped.

I grunted, suddenly aware that I had been daydreaming. When I looked at her I found her shaking her head.

"What are you thinking?"

"Nothing."

"A typical answer from a man," she said with a chuckle. "Never a thought in your head."

"It seems you have enough thoughts in yours for the two of us."

"I'm angry with him, Erik. Lissy woke up when she heard the Comte's coach leave and she told me Anthony kept asking if you invite her to sit on your lap." She exhaled hard. "She's questioning the wrong man."

My lips parted. "Did her father…did he?"

She looked away and nodded. "She's too young to remember. And I would rather not discuss it."

"How would Anthony know?"

"I have no idea if he knows or if it's merely speculation on his part. Please, I don't want to discuss this. It makes me ill." She threw her dish towel onto the kitchen table and crossed her arms. "Next time I shall only invite Meg and Charles."

With a shrug I walked across the kitchen. "I'd prefer a more intimate party."

She rolled her eyes and cocked her head to the side. "I'm sure you would, considering you weren't run absolutely ragged tonight."

"Run ragged? You spent most of the evening laughing over Charles' stories. For a moment I thought you were engaged to him."

"If only I could be so fortunate, but Meg saw him first" she said dryly. "Surely you're not jealous of Charles?"

"As long as he keeps his hands to himself," I grumbled.

My words earned me a tight embrace and a kiss on the lips, which I greedily attempted to deepen. She allowed me a moment or two before she gazed into my eyes and smiled innocently.

"I truly am exhausted."

Our evening had come to an end. With a nod, I glanced at the back door, reluctant to return home. My mind was overflowing with thoughts I didn't want. I'd have to walk to London and back if I wished to clear my head.

"What did Anthony say to you, anyhow?"

I looked at her and swallowed hard. "He knows my cousin."

She stared blankly at me, her lips parted in shock. "You have a cousin?"

"Joshua Kimmer," I answered.

"This is wonderful…isn't it?"

"It's unexpected."

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"There isn't much to tell."

She blew a raspberry. "No, not at all. Only a cousin you never knew existed."

"I knew he existed," I answered. "I merely didn't know where he existed."

Her brow furrowed. "I don't understand."

I exhaled through my mouth. "You said you were exhausted."

"Yes, but not so exhausted that I couldn't stay awake to hear your story." She frowned when I didn't readily continue. Her hand gently rubbed my chest as though to coax me. "I think this is an amazing opportunity for you, Erik. And for Alex as well. Imagine how excited he would be to know he has an uncle of sorts."

My only response was a grunt.

"You don't want to meet him?"

"After the wedding."

"Oh, but Erik—"

"What would you like me to say?"

"That you are happy."

With a sigh I glanced around the kitchen. "It's unexpected."

"Yes, I imagine." She stepped closer to me. "How did Anthony know this man was your cousin?"

"He knew my name was once Kimmer."

"Erik Kimmer," she sighed.

"Kire," I corrected. "I am Erik Kire."

She neither agreed nor disagreed. "I've heard the name Kimmer before. What did you say his first name was?"

"Joshua."

Her brow furrowed. "No, that doesn't sound familiar. "Does he have siblings?"

"His brother died a long time ago, as did his father. Anthony called him Valgarde Kimmer."

"I should have known." She beamed and for a moment I expected her to float off the ground, suspended in pure bliss.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Well, you wouldn't have known him from this, but he once played the organ in my church. He was also a conductor if I remember correctly. But, what you would remember from the newspaper is that he was once a violinist and he played a solo with Giulia Grisi the year before she passed away."

"That was what? Twenty years ago?"

"Yes, but I remember my mother talking about it because she'd once seen Don Pasquale and thought it was marvelous. That was the first time we traveled to Paris. I remember it clearly. And I also remember how angry Mother was when Uncle Luc gave their performance a rather scathing review." She paused and looked at me strangely. "You don't recall any of this, do you?"

"I would have remembered seeing the name Kimmer in the newspaper." He was at least ten years older than I, which put him at around fifty-four years of age. In my mind I contorted his father's image, made him younger and healthier. Ah, I could clearly picture him playing before a crowd. Yet, I had reservations about meeting him face-to-face.

"Well, it was there. I remember reading it in the newspaper just like it had been yesterday. Valgarde Kimmer, musician and composer."

"Twenty years ago and you remember it as though it were yesterday," I grumbled. "Were you old enough to read?"

"Why, you old toad!" she gasped, slapping my arm.

"Out of all the species in the world you liken me to a toad?"

"I find it rather fitting. Why must you always be so cynical?"

"I'm practical."

"As practical as a corpse on a block of ice." She shook her head. "You are excited. I can tell." She brushed her finger across my lips. "It shows, even though I know you'll disagree because it's in your nature to be difficult, isn't it?"

She was in a playful mood and I noted the twinkle in her eye. The news had excited her a great deal more than I had ever expected. It was as though she were drunk on it, which I decided to use to my advantage.

"Since you don't appear to be as tired as you originally thought, why don't we discuss this fascinating subject upstairs in your room?"

"You must think you're terribly clever."

"Desperate," I said. "And about to die."

She looked at me strangely. "From?"

I glanced down, then up at her and smiled slyly.

She rolled her eyes, her stern nature returning at once. "Have the courtesy to die in your own house. I'm retiring for the night."

I caught her in my arms and drew her close, which seemed to both surprise and arouse her. She looked at me breathlessly, her lips parted, her face glowing.

"Whose house do you prefer?" I asked.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Where do you want to live? In my house or yours?"

Her brow furrowed. "I haven't even thought of that." She looked terrified. "My God, I never once considered—"

"My house."

She looked skeptical but politely nodded.

"Meg and Charles will soon want a place of their own to raise their child," I said, assuming she feared a house overrun with people. "And Madeline will undoubtedly wish to remain with her daughter."

Her eyes lit up. "I could sell them my house. Then they could still live nearby, Charles could teach Alex, and Lissy would simply adore helping Meg with the baby. Oh, it would be perfect. Madeline could live downstairs and have the guest room as her own. With her knee bothering her so much I'm sure she'd like to keep on the ground floor."

"What about Charles?"

"There are two bedrooms upstairs and two downstairs. Meg could turn Lissy's room into a nursery and the master bedroom into a sewing room."

The layout of her house and mine were similar, though the rooms in her home were smaller.

"You will remember to mention it, won't you?" she questioned.

"In the morning," I replied.

She kissed me one last time. "I expect to see you by ten in the morning. There are still many details we must finalize."

With that I was pushed out the back door and into my own yard. I stared at the house's façade briefly before I walked to the gate and out toward the front. Bessie peeked through the curtains and stared at me as though she hoped I would take her for a walk.

I yawned but didn't feel tired. A walk would do me good, I thought as I opened the front door and found the house quiet. Bessie, the little devil, had her leash in her mouth.

"To the corner and back," I whispered.

I closed the door quietly and slipped her leash around my wrist. Valgarde Kimmer was on my mind. I wondered how difficult he would be to locate—and whether or not I could find his house before sunrise.


	40. Rabbit Proof

A/N There were a few changes from the preread and my snafu upload under the wrong story. Kire's irritated. I know how you love an irritated man!

OW40

There was too much on my mind for a mere walk to the corner and back, and I daresay Bessie knew it. She happily trotted along, stopping every few paces to sniff another tree or examine a piece of refuse on the street. For as much as she stopped she still managed to tug me forward as though she had an entirely different mission for the night.

With all of her sniffing I wished I'd had an article of clothing from Joshua Kimmer's closet. I was certain she could have retrieved his scent within minutes.

But he was hardly the only idea on my mind. We rounded the corner and passed Julia's house. The future Lowry House I thought to myself. It would take a bit of redecorating, considering only one of the downstairs bedrooms had an actual bed in it—the other I'd never seen but I was fairly certain was where Julia did the majority of her sewing.

It would be ideal for Julia and her daughter to leave that house. Although quaint—or charming, as it was polite to say, it held many bad memories not only for Julia and Lisette, but for me as well.

"Bastard," I muttered under my breath.

If I had known what he'd done to Lisette—and granted I knew very little even now—I would have drawn out his death and made it a horrific one. The coward had met his demise with far too little pain and suffering, especially after preying upon his own daughter.

My hands shook with rage. It bothered me that Julia had never told me of this. I found myself standing on her doorstep staring at the darkened window. We probably could have stood there all night unnoticed, but a rabbit darted across the yard and Bessie, thinking she could somehow outrun her leash, bellowed and lunged forward.

In a panic I dragged her off the porch and cursed her under my breath. Damned dog never before made a peep while we took our walks and suddenly she decided to alarm half of Paris that the neighborhood had fallen under siege to a rabbit.

"Erik?"

I glanced over my shoulder and saw Julia in her nightgown and robe.

"I'm not the one howling," I muttered.

"What are you doing here so late? I thought you'd gone home."

"I can't sleep," I snapped.

"I see that." She yawned. "Bringing Bessie for a visit?"

I scowled at her, irritated that I'd been caught at her door when I should have been walking several streets away.

"What's wrong?" she questioned.

"Louis," I answered.

She frowned and stepped outside. "What do you mean?"

"I always thought he'd…" I couldn't bring myself to say that he'd merely hit her. My childhood was built of slaps and bruises, welts and split lips. "I had no idea."

She stared at me for a long while and I thought for certain she would snap at me and return inside. Her features softened and she looked away.

"I know," she whispered. "No one did."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Erik, you've barely known her until recently, and still…it will take time before you're her father. I imagine for a whole she will consider you Alex's father."

"You should have told me."

"What would have you said?"

"I don't know what I would have said. I still don't know what to say."

"There is nothing to say."

"Yes, there's plenty to say, but I don't know what he did."

Her expression hardened. "Do you want me to tell you what he did?"

I couldn't answer her. There was no right or wrong reply, merely dread in knowing the truth. I wanted to know but I was sure I couldn't stomach an answer. At last I looked down and stared at Bessie, who had decided to roll in the grass.

"I never asked her what he did," Julia said, her voice low. "All I know is that when I changed her for the night there was blood on the inside of her legs."

My eyes closed, jaw clamped tight. I shook my head and thought for a moment that I would vomit. She was not only a child but she was his child. "How old was she?"

"Far too young," she answered.

"You should have come to my door and I would have killed him that very night."

She clasped my hand and stepped closer to me. "Don't say such things."

"Why not?"

"I don't think of you as a murderer, Erik, and I never want to see you as such. Ever."

We stood in silence for a moment. Over and over I wondered why I'd never heard Lisette cry when I sat at my desk with the windows open. It seemed as though I should have heard her at least once. A shudder rattled through my body. In twelve years no one had ever known I'd lived in my parents' cellar. I was silent, afraid to make a sound. It was a strange and dark kinship that I held with Julia's daughter, one we would never acknowledge but one that would always be there, at least in my mind.

"She'll be fine," Julia assured me. "She's not afraid of you anymore."

My stomach tightened. "Anymore? What do you mean anymore? What has she said to you? What have I done to her?"

The alarm in my expression caused her to shake her head. "No, no, it's not like that."

"Then what is it like?" I demanded.

"It wasn't you she was afraid of," she said swiftly. "It's just…"

"Just what?"

"Erik, calm down. Before she knew you she feared someone would come into her room and hurt her. It had nothing to do with you."

I was unconvinced. My gaze was drawn to the second floor of her home where I pictured Lisette asleep with a doll in her arms.

"She was always afraid of the dark so I would leave a candle in her room so that she wouldn't be afraid. It's been years since the dark frightened her."

"I never knew any of this."

"Well, I shouldn't have mentioned it."

"Yes, you should have. You should have told me all of it years ago. The very day we met you should have told me."

"Erik."

Louis had brought about instantaneous rage. My words were jumbled, my hands balled into fists. "Why must you keep these things from me? You don't trust me? Is that it? You don't want me to know anything?"

She gave an exasperated sigh. "What color are Meg's eyes?"

"Excuse me?" Meg had nothing to do with this and I knew Julia was merely attempting to confuse me. Of course I fell for her trick.

"What color are Meg's eyes?"

"A bluish…brown."

Julia nodded. "Precisely."

"Precisely what?"

"Her eyes are gray, which I can't imagine you'd noticed seeing as how you've lived in the same home as her for what? Nine years?"

"And what of it?"

"I could have told you this five years ago and it wouldn't have mattered to you then."

"Of course it would have."

"No, it wouldn't have. Our lives were not important to each other then—at least not like they are now."

Her words brought little comfort. I shrugged and turned away from her, still angered that she hadn't told me a word of this.

"He deserved to suffer far more than he did."

"Louis doesn't matter to me and he shouldn't matter to you. Alex, Lissy, and you are my family. As long as the three of you are healthy and happy, I'm happy." She stood on the tips of her toes and kissed me. "Now, please. Go home and go to sleep."

"You may order me around after Tuesday," I grumbled.

She grinned. "I've ordered you around for years. You just never knew it." She lightly pushed against my arm before she returned to her door. I watched her walk inside before I took Bessie's leash and led her down the street.

Less than a block away was a man with an Afghan hound walking toward us. Against my better judgment, I kept my head down, waited until we'd already passed him, then cleared my throat.

"You there," I said, keeping my voice low and deep.

He turned and stared at me. "Sorry?"

"Valgarde Kimmer. Heard of him?"

"Why, yes, sir."

"Where does he live?"

"Kimmer? Kimmer? I don't rightly know."

Ignorant fool. I rolled my tongue along the inside of my cheek.

"Three streets up." He pointed to his left. "Not his house, but a little pub called the Sterois is about, oh, I'd say twelve buildings from the corner. If you hear the piano playing, Old Val's there."

I thanked him and briskly walked to the corner of the street. Three streets up and twelve buildings over.

I swore I could already hear the piano playing.


	41. A Shadow

A/N: go to my website and vote for your favorite pick up line under the Erika Kire page. There's some really funny entries. Go now! Go now and vote please! (My best Phantom imitation).

OW41

I walked faster than I ever had in my life, until the little pub wedged between a lawyer's office building and a butcher's shop came into view. Once I saw the sign and the open doorway I paused, uncertain of whether I should walk to the front door or take the alley toward the back.

"Play us another one," a man shouted over the crowd. His voice sounded strangely familiar.

"Of course, Monsieur. Anything to teach an Englishman the true meaning of entertainment."

"You're fortunate I don't have my violin at my disposal. I'd show you a thing or two."

Laughter came from what sounded like a small crowd while I stood with my mouth agape. An entire damned city lay at my feet and naturally the first voice I heard belonged to the most irritating individual I had ever met. He'd been correct in his statement: The Leaches were not only everywhere but they always seemed to be popping up directly in front of me.

My pace slowed and I sighed to myself as the smell of pipe smoke and the sound of laughter filled the night. For a long while I lingered beneath a sputtering streetlamp that eventually went dark. Cloaked in shadows, I weighed my options.

This pilgrimage was meant to be a lone venture into the night. Frustrated, I placed my fists on my hips and exhaled. The moment I entered the establishment Archie would recognize me. Had it been a different situation I wouldn't have had qualms about speaking with him—and undoubtedly being clapped on the back. But this was a delicate moment, one I wished to approach on my own. With his fingers in multiple enterprises throughout Europe, he was a well-known man. I should have known he'd emerge from the woodwork and stand in my path.

A man unexpectedly emerged from the establishment with a tambourine under his arm. He chuckled to himself as he leaned against the building and retrieved cigarettes from his overcoat pocket.

He didn't notice me at first, which gave me the opportunity to observe him. I wasn't certain if he truly looked like Kimmer or if I merely wanted to believe I'd found a piece of a puzzle I'd ignored for years.

"He's about to jump on the table." A man poked his greasy head through the door. "Damned fool."

"Damned lovesick fool."

I dissected his voice, searching for a hint of his father. My memory chose that moment to betray me.

"Aye, but did you get a good look at her?"

I took a small step back, afraid they'd notice me.

"Couldn't look at her."

The man with his head sticking out furrowed his brow. "Why not?"

"A pretty thing like that? Why, one look at her and I'm afraid I'd challenge poor Archie to a duel."

"And we both know the man has enough problems as it is." He winked, a grin spreading wide across his face.

"He is, after all, English." The man I suspected was Kimmer tossed his head back and laughed.

"Poor bastard."

"At least he could be proud of his wife, if not his country."

The cacophony inside turned louder, and without ever glancing in my direction he was gone, returned to his friends while I stood alone beneath a dark streetlamp with Bessie lying on my foot.

"Damn it," I muttered.

She stared up at me as though dying of boredom was a definite possibility. I was almost certain I'd die of anxiety.

"Stay," I said to her once I wrapped her leash around the light post.

Her head turned to the side, her normally morose eyes filled with curiosity. She gave a grunt of protest.

"You'll get your nose caught in a tin can," I grumbled.

She grunted again, this time as though I'd insulted her. With one gentle tug of her ear I stood and walked away. It would only take me a moment to walk through the alley, peer through the back door, and catch another glimpse of this man, preferably at the piano. Then, when I saw him perform, there would be no doubt in my mind that he was Joshua Kimmer. It was all I wanted from him. Merely a glimpse and nothing more.

"Monsieur Kire?"

I froze at the sound of a woman's voice.

"Shall I walk Bessie home?"

I turned to face Ruby and found her bending to pat the dog on the head. She smiled warmly—at Bessie—before she glanced up at me.

"She's fine where she is."

I heard a piano, a violin, and a tambourine. It sounded as though twenty people were banging their hands on the tables.

"Is something wrong?" Ruby questioned.

"Nothing is wrong. I'm out for my walk."

Her eyes narrowed. "You're taking a walk without your dog?"

Well, hell. How would I explain to her that I merely wanted to observe someone from a darkened alley and not send her screaming down the street? I glanced past her at a café, the tables empty and a lone waiter collecting the chairs.

"I was on my way into there." I nodded at the establishment. "And then you stopped me."

"Oh." She frowned in return. "It appears as though you are too late. Are you hungry? The kitchen is still open." She pointed at the pub.

"You've turned your nose up," I said.

The music stopped and the crowd roared with laughter. Damn it, I thought. They may have finished for the night. The last thing I wanted was to suddenly be surrounded by drunken patrons returning to their homes.

She grinned and gave a shrug. "Everything on their menu is quite greasy—including the custard. But if you're hungry I'll return to your home and warm up supper, Monsieur—"

"I will survive until morning."

She nodded and glanced back as a man walked out the door and down the street.

"Well, Monsieur Leach is walking me home. Goodnight, Monsieur Kire." She lifted her hand to wave and I saw the ring on her finger.

"You…"

She laughed before I finished my comment. Her grin spread across her face. "Why, yes. Just this evening he proposed before all of his friends." Her eyes welled with tears. My secret excursion was about to be uncovered by an emotional woman in joy-induced hysteria.

"Congratulations," I blurted out.

Unexpectedly she walked forward and extended her arms. "Oh, Monsieur, your home is the most blessed in all of Paris." She embraced me gently and sighed. I loosely draped my arms around her before she took a step back and straightened her blouse. "I cannot believe how fortunate everyone has been. There is a new baby for Monsieur and Madame Lowry, a wedding for you and Madame Seuratti—and a new suitor for Madame Giry."

She gave another dreamy sigh and gazed at her ring. "And now this. I never would have met Archie if I hadn't started working for you. I'm so happy Madame Giry offered me the position. Truly, I am grateful, Monsieur."

The man I suspected was Kimmer walked through the door and strolled down the street with a woman on his arm and two other fellows at his side. I'd lost my chance. Frustrated, I crossed my arms.

"Goodnight, Mademoiselle," I said.

My harsh words snapped her out of her bliss and she stared at me. She looked confused, but made no attempt to keep me a moment longer. I heard her mumble something about Bessie as I untied the dog and walked down the street, watching as the two men entered a carriage while the couple continued down the street.

I followed them until they crossed the street. My eyesight was impeccable in the dark, but he was too far away for me to study his features. All I could see was one side of his face when he turned to face the woman.

He laughed at something she said. It wasn't his father's laugh. He didn't walk the way his father walked. He seemed shorter, stockier than his father. My pace slowed, much to Bessie's relief. I still wasn't certain if it was him or not.

And then came the proof.

"Come, Monsieur Lacaff, you must say hello to my mother and father. You know how they adore you."

It wasn't him. I'd followed some other fool three blocks and his name was Lacaff, not Kimmer. I paused and Bessie took her moment of rest to scratch behind her ear and give a full body shake.

"Let's go home," I said under my breath.

Disappointed, I loosened my grip on her leash and dragged my feet along, suddenly feeling exhausted. We'd barely walked three paces when I saw a man from the corner of my eye. He stood across the street, a pipe between his lips, a full cloak concealing his body, and a top hat perched at an angle on his head.

It was too dark to see his face, but he nodded at me and I nodded back. Breath held, I waited to see if he would approach or if this was as close as we would come to one another. There was only one thing discernable about his presence, one feature that would tear me up from the inside: He looked like a shadow.


	42. Traitorous Dog

OW42

I remembered The Shadow's face. After years of denying that he ever existed, I had molded a man from hope and tucked him carefully into the back of my mind. Perhaps he wasn't as tall as I wanted to remember. Perhaps his eyes were a different shade of green, his hair thicker and lighter than I recalled. Much of my own outward appearance was modeled after my vision of him. I, of course, had taken away his illness and made him invincible.

Yet, as much as I had conjured up my own ideal, I was certain that I would know Joshua Kimmer the moment I saw him. Perfectly tailored suit, his hair combed back, his demeanor commanding yet elegant. He would be the man I had long strived to become but had failed miserably in achieving.

Perhaps it would be better if I allowed this ghost to walk past me. Most certainly I would never find what I longed to see. But my feet didn't move fast enough.

The man across the street whistled and Bessie perked up. She tugged on her leash and wagged her tail, flattered by his attention. I held her steady, uncertain of whether we should cross or return home.

"Is it a he or a she?"

His voice sounded nothing like his father's and I wondered if I'd again stumbled upon the wrong man.

"She."

He whistled again and held out his hand to the dog even though we were still across the street from one another. We may have stared at each other until dawn had it not been for Bessie. Unwinding her leash from my wrist, I allowed her to trot across the street.

"Basset hound?"

"Yes."

He bent down to greet her before I had a chance to look at his face. While he crouched down, all I was offered of his appearance were his coat and hat. It wasn't enough. My imagination ran rampant.

"I used to have a Basset of my own. She had puppies a while ago. Oh, it must have been two or three years ago. What's her name?"

"Bessie." I winced, thinking it was a ridiculous name for a dog. "She belongs to my son."

He nodded but didn't look up at me. Bessie, the little traitor, was on her back with her belly fully exposed. She tossed her head back and forth and whined in delight.

"I miss having a Basset around. I discover my feet grow cold at night."

This was not the conversation I had expected. I looked down at him, silently willing him to meet my eye so that I could see his face and determine if this search had been worth my time. Most certainly it felt fruitless thus far, what with this monumental moment centered on a droopy-eyed dog.

"I hope your Basset was more loyal than mine," I replied.

"Mine decided she liked my daughter more than she liked me."

At last he looked up and smiled. My nerves buzzed with anticipation. It was him—it was Kimmer, healthier and stronger, resurrected before my eyes. I heard myself exhale and wondered if he knew how relieved I was.

He was older than I had expected even though I knew he would be a man in his late fifties. I'd always thought of him as a man in his early twenties. With all the years that had passed, in my mind he had never aged. But despite his weathered, aged face he was exactly as I remembered his father, down to the crooked grin and friendly eyes.

With a groan he stood and dusted off his pant legs. "Excuse me. These knees of mine are not what they once were."

Immediately I noticed we were the same height. I couldn't remember how tall his father was since I was several inches shorter when I had known him. To me he was a giant, more in his personality and his influences than his physical presence.

His eyes narrowed once he saw my face, though his reaction was more of curiosity than revulsion of my mask. I could see in his eyes that he knew who I was. Of course he knew, I told myself. It wasn't a coincidence that we stood across the street from one another. I had followed him and he had followed me. He was a better illusionist.

"Pleasant evening for a walk," he commented.

"A bit humid for my liking."

"So it is. Better than cold, I'd say, though my joints tend to disagree with both humidity and cold. What a terrible thing age is, don't you agree?"

"Yes," I answered lamely. I wanted more from our conversation than simple pleasantries. With each passing second I felt increasingly deflated.

He turned away and glanced at his pocket watch. "Ah, that Monsieur Leach has managed to keep me out late once more. Good night to you, Monsieur. Have a nice walk." He looked to his new best friend, who was wagging her tail. "And to you, Bessie."

My cowardice infuriated me. I stood, completely speechless, as he turned and walked away. Years of waiting, of regretting that I had not ventured to Paris to find him, had not mattered. All the time spent wondering and our conversation was divided between a dog and the weather.

In my mind I could see his father shaking his head at me. I had disappointed his memory. I had disappointed myself.

"Kimmer," I shouted.

His pace slowed and he turned. He looked at me as though he had been waiting to hear his name called.

"Kire," he replied.

My lips parted but I had no words for him. He knew me—or knew who I wanted to be. In my heart I had assumed he was familiar with me, but now I knew for certain. He was my blood relative, a link I had always missed without ever knowing what I wanted to find.

"I have not seen your name in the newspaper for a while. Tell me, are you still writing music?"

I nodded like a dumb animal.

"Anything we may hear soon?"

What had I written? I couldn't remember a damned piece of music. "They're in Russia," I answered. Half of my brain had seemingly floated to the bottom of my shoe.

He looked somewhat amused. "And do you play the violin?"

"Always."

The smile on his face broadened. "Very well, then." He stepped closer and folded his arms. Still, we said nothing of our pasts, of the tendrils between his life and mine that had always existed but never entwined. Until now.

"I've taught my son to play," I blurted out. "He is better than I am. A natural."

"A Mozart?"

"He's too old to be Mozart. But he's very talented."

"It must be in his blood."

I merely nodded. I barely knew what was in my blood. In a matter of months I had met my only living relative, the only kindness at the cusp of my childhood. Goosebumps rose along my arms as I thought of him. The Shadow, I had called him. I'd ignorantly allowed his memory to fade when I should have embraced his life with everything I had. Instead I had denied him. After all he had done for me, allowing me what was left of his life, I had destroyed him.

"How old is your son?"

"He's nine."

"A fine age, if I do remember correctly."

"His name is Alexandre."

It practically tied my tongue in knots to say his name.

Joshua Kimmer's lips twitched. He nodded once. "Alexandre?" he questioned.

Again I nodded once.

The twitch of his lips turned into a smile. "A fine name."

"There was no other name appropriate for him." I paused, no longer certain of whom I spoke of. "He is the most important person in my life."

My throat tightened before I finished my sentence and I turned away in order to cough and mask the sob I felt lodged in my throat. It had been a long time since I had spoken of him, since I had dared to think of him. I hadn't told Julia, nor Madeline, who always seemed to know more about me than I often knew of myself.

"Only one child?"

His question surprised me. I turned to him again and tilted my face so that he clearly saw the mask. "Only one child," I confirmed, my tone bitter. My hands clenched and I considered my future. There was no need to be bitter. "For now."

He didn't say a word, but there was a question in his gaze.

"With my future wife," I said. "Julia."

"Congratulations." He seemed genuinely pleased. "When is the wedding?"

"Monday," I replied. "In my home." My mouth opened and closed. Should I be so bold as to invite him? He was still a stranger to me, one whom shared my blood, one whose father had made my past bearable.

I lose myself in a question: Did I owe Joshua Kimmer what I felt I still owed his father? He knew of me only through a handful of letters his father had sent him. But he'd received nothing from me. No letter, no visit…nothing.

Suddenly I wanted to explain myself, rationalize what I needed. His father was dead. He needed nothing from me. But I still wanted more.

"I knew your father," I said.

He didn't laugh or smile as I had expected once I stated what was blatantly obvious. He merely nodded and his silence aggravated me.

"You were the last person to know him, I believe."

My chest tightened. I couldn't bear to see his death, even if it was only a memory. Where had this rush of emotion come from? I was a grown man with a son and a wife. I owned a house, employed a cook, and sold my music. This was behind me. This had always been behind me.

I turned away from him and tugged on Bessie's leash but she wasn't prepared to leave. Neither was I. Just as swiftly as I had turned away, I faced him once more.

"He was a good father," I said, my words stiff and formal. That was what he'd been to me: A father, a kind and gentle man who had cared enough to listen to me speak but who had also made certain that I listened to his every word. Four months of his life were dedicated to me. My heart split in two. It was not a long amount of time by any means, but it was all the time he had.

"My home is two streets away." He pointed to his right. "A white house with yellow trim. Absolutely hideous." He chuckled to himself. "But as you are most likely aware, it is best to allow the woman what she wants in the home."

I swallowed hard but made no reply nor gesture.

"If you are not terribly preoccupied I would like to speak with you tomorrow at a more reasonable hour."

I feared to agree as much as I feared to deny him. "The evening," I said.

"I will be attending a play in the evening. Would ten be convenient for you?"

It wasn't convenient at all. Too much sunlight, too much revealed…but I nodded.

"If she would care to accompany you, by all means bring…Julia, did you say?"

Again I nodded, seemingly losing my speech.

"Good night, Monsieur. I hope to see you tomorrow."

He walked away from me and returned home. I stood on the corner for a long time as though I wished to see him again. Or someone exactly like him that I knew I'd never see, at least not in this lifetime.

Bessie whined and I glanced down at her. "Thank you," I said.

I walked her home.


	43. Four Months Remembered

A/N: If you haven't read the Giver of Life vignettes then this won't have much impact for you. You might want to grab a tissue. This turned into a very emotional chapter.

OW43

She would not be pleased to see me at three in the morning. The true middle of the night, the hour when she was fast asleep and I should have been in bed with a dog snoring at my feet and a cat digging her nails into my shoulder.

But I wasn't asleep, or content, or ready to retire for the night. I was violently awake and anxious, and it had nothing to do with it being the day before our wedding. My heart thumped against my ribcage, thoughts churned through my mind. I needed to speak with Julia, to tell her…something.

I unleashed Bessie and she ran into the kitchen. I heard her lapping up water and followed the sound. Through the kitchen window I could see Julia's house, dark and quiet. I longed to see a candle in her window, though not for the sake of pleasure. From her I wanted relief—mental relief, emotional relief.

"Kimmer," I whispered.

When I closed my eyes I could still see his face the way it had been. Gaunt and yellow but always hinting at a handsome young man who struggled to be known despite his lost youth.

He looked at me—really looked at me, not the mask and not the scars. He was the first person, the only person for many years, who saw me as an equal and not a monster. He'd sheltered a thirteen-year-old boy from the horrors the boy had seen in himself and he'd shown this boy dignity and respect from the world, however stilted. He quelled demons, stifled the pain that had felt like a furnace in my chest. He'd lessened my anger and fear. He'd handed me a soul I didn't believe I deserved.

Such a terrible, terrible child. Always escaping…

I found myself at Julia's back door. I tried the doorknob and it moved beneath my hand. She hadn't locked it, and I wondered if she expected me. Or, perhaps in her rush to clean the kitchen she'd forgotten to lock it. It didn't matter. I walked inside, maneuvered through the kitchen, and down the hall. The stairs creaked under my weight and I thought I would wake her, but I didn't. Her daughter remained asleep and so did Julia, even when I stood at the foot of her bed.

"Julia," I whispered.

She roused slowly at the sound of my voice. My presence didn't alarm or frighten her in any way, much to my relief. She sat up and rubbed her eyes.

"Erik? What hour is it? My goodness, you're still dressed from last night." Panic filled her eyes. "Is Meg…experiencing womanly phenomena?"

"No."

"Why are you here so late?"

"I must speak with you."

"I'm very tired." She smiled weakly. "And I'm not your wife yet, but that's still an acceptable excuse."

"Julia, I must speak to you."

The mirth in her expression faded. "Oh, no." Her eyes widened in the dark. "You've reconsidered."

Uninvited, I sat on the edge of the bed and twisted around to face her. "I met someone tonight."

Fear radiated in her gaze. "A woman?"

"A man."

Her lips parted, eyes narrowed. "A man?" she whispered.

I took her hands in mine and immediately extinguished her presumptions. "My cousin."

Relief washed over her face, then confusion. "A cousin? How can this—"

"Please, I must tell you."

She nodded and laced her fingers with mine. "Yes, of course."

I looked her in the eye and swallowed hard, uncertain of where I should begin. Desperately I gulped air but it did nothing to relieve the tight constriction I felt around my lungs.

"I always escaped from the cellar," I whispered. "When no one was home or when they were asleep." She clenched my hand tightly and I felt myself tremble, but nothing would stop me. I had to tell her so that I also could hear the words. "I often escaped, but this time…this one time… I found him."

She lifted one hand and brushed it past my shoulder. "Your cousin?"

I shook my head. "My uncle."

There was fear in her eyes. She didn't know what to think because I had not given her enough to form an opinion, good or bad. Still, she assumed the worst.

"He gave me a violin."

She smiled at me. "Your first?"

"Yes." The first violin I ever possessed, the first true gift I had ever received and cherished.

I told her everything I could recall from the time he'd first placed his fingerless hand on my arm to the way he'd found me naked at the seaside. All the while I carefully watched her expression, studied the fascination and grief in her eyes and the tightness of her lips. A tear rolled down her cheek when I told her that it was my father who had humiliated me. She laughed unexpectedly when I told her of how I could hold my legs to my chest and create tidal waves across the creek.

Everything I had kept secret, kept hidden, poured from me before the sun rose. Both good and bad, both healing and painful, I laid out before her.

Eventually we lay side by side and she ran her fingers through my hair.

"And now you know his son," she whispered.

"Met him," I corrected, which also didn't seem like the truth. Confronted him on a dark street, thanks to my dog, was the proper answer.

"And was he…?"

"Not exactly."

"As you hoped?"

"As I expected."

She nodded. "What did you expect?"

"I don't know." I lied to her as well as myself. What I wanted no longer existed, but I couldn't confront that thought. If he didn't exist then neither did I.

Her lips touched mine, providing comfort. There was no hint, no promise of sexual intimacy. She was merely at my side as a friend, as a wife would be to her husband, as one half of my soul to the other.

"Why haven't you ever said his name?"

"I say it daily." Tears flooded my eyes but didn't spill over the edges. I blinked in time to ward off emotion and knew full well that when I returned home and closed my bedroom door that I would crouch on the floor and cry myself to sleep. In darkness I would recall my prisons, the days I starved from hunger, the years I starved from affection. Alone I would reconstruct his voice in my head, recall the nights we lay in the ferns with a fire between us and words I could no longer recall filling the night. It didn't matter precisely what he said. He'd said it to me.

"He is the reason I am alive," I whispered.

He was everything. The sole reason I felt love and pain, the reason why I had protected Julia and Lisette, the heartbeat I'd felt kick me in the chest the night I found Aria. He was the reason I could care for Alex, the strength I had to survive each day I woke alone and retired in darkness. A mere four months of following and imitating a shadow had given me the ability to live as a ghost and survive as a man.

Her eyes filled with tears that she could not control. A sniffle escaped and she pressed her forehead to mine. "Then I love him as well."

I held her as tightly as I could without breaking her. "He should not have left his home. He would have lived longer if he'd stayed and cared for himself."

"Alone?" she questioned softly. "Is that what he would have wanted?"

I couldn't answer her directly. "He deserved better." In his final days, in the last moments of his life, in his burial…more than a boy could give him. I clenched my hands as though I could still feel the dirt beneath my fingernails.

"It sounds as though he had what he needed." She kissed me again, reassuring me that she was near. "And that he was quite content to spend time with his nephew."

My life story exhausted me and I inhaled deeply. I could stay the night with her or I could return home. As much as I preferred her warmth, my desk, my pen, and my paper called to me. My fingers itched with an unnamed song, my mind buzzed with the notes of a composition I needed to write.

Slowly I sat up and Julia rose with me. Her arms stayed around my neck and she squeezed gently.

"What was his name?" she whispered.

"Alekandar Kimmer."

Her tears dampened my neck. "Alex." She kissed my ear and murmured, "He would be pleased. With both of you."


	44. Powdered Sugar and Confessions

A/N just a reminder to vote in my online contest. Go to my website and click on Introducing Erika Kire. And hey, it's the perfect opportunity to check out my e-book, The Viking Stones! You know you wanna! I gotta pay the electric bill so I can keep writing fan fic. Oh, and check out who has something to say…

E/N (Erik Notes, for those who have forgotten): The wedding draws near. If you wish to send a gift, make certain it does not have powdered sugar.

OW44

"Are you sure you don't want anything to eat?" Julia offered.

She'd ushered me into the parlor where she served hot tea and a plate of cherry scones left over from her dinner party. By the looks of it, she'd added a tablespoon of powdered sugar to her desserts in order to tempt me.

"I'm fine," I answered listlessly.

With a frown, she dabbed her finger on the plate and tasted the powdered sugar on her fingertip. "It's quite good. Why don't you try just one?"

"Please, share half with me," she said when I didn't answer. "It will make you feel better."

I stared at her briefly and shook my head. "A scone?" I asked incredulously.

"Well, I wish you'd eat anything, really. I know you're feeling better when you're eating."

Exhaustion hit me full force and my eyes grew heavier. "If I stay here much longer I'm afraid I'll fall asleep before I reach the gate."

"You may stay if you'd like. You're more than welcome to take a nap in the guest room for a few hours. Lissy won't give you any trouble."

"No, I prefer my own bed." I turned my face away and yawned. Before I faced her again I caught sight of a long blue and white ribbon. My gaze followed the thin strip of fabric up to a broad-rimmed hat.

"Another one of Mademoiselle Leach's creations?" I faced Julia and saw her blush. "One of your own?"

"Yes, one of my own, though I'm afraid it's not yet finished."

"It looks finished…whatever it is." Women's fashion was of little interest to me.

"It's a sunhat I made. I only have the ribbon pinned to the hat. I wasn't sure if Lissy would like the colors. She had pointed to a different ribbon the other day."

I grunted. "Does she have one as well?"

"Yes, she's making her own…but not for the same reason…"

"I beg your pardon?"

"It's…nothing, really." She pursed her lips and then added, "Well...it's…for a holiday I'd hoped to take, but we may discuss this at a later time."

"Excuse me?"

She rose and placed the hat into a brown paper bag as though I'd forget about it once it was out of my sight. I stared at her, my brow furrowed.

"Julia?"

"Yes?"

My hands clasped the arm of the chair. "Where are you traveling?"

"It's not an appropriate time to discuss."

"To discuss what?" I couldn't decide if I was more irritated or worried by her elusive answers. Regardless, I picked up a scone, deciding it was better to taste one than allow it to go to waste.

"Our honeymoon," she blurted out.

Her words were enough to stop my heart. I drew in a breath and nearly choked to death on powdered sugar.

"You've planned it?" My eyes teared up from the powdered sugar coating my nostrils and the back of my throat.

"The ceremony is tomorrow, Erik. I've been thinking about where we should travel. You do want to travel…don't you?"

"I suppose Alex and Lisette would enjoy…" She frowned at my words before I'd finished speaking. "Staying with Madeline?"

"Do you think she would mind?"

Would she mind? I thought to myself. Spending a week—possibly more—with Alex and Lisette to herself, her daughter on the verge of birthing a child of her own, and caring for a dog and a cat.

"Not at all," I answered.

She appeared visibly relieved. "Oh, good. If she would like the help, I'm sure Meanie wouldn't mind postponing her voyage to America a while longer. She just simply adores Lissy and Alex."

At last I turned away and coughed until my throat was clear.

"You must have a tickle in your throat. Drink some more tea."

I reached into my pocket for a handkerchief and nearly dropped my mask on the floor. "It's all this damned powdered sugar!"

"I thought you weren't hungry?"

With a scowl I reached for my cup of tea and huffed, "Where have you decided to drag me?"

She tilted her head to the side and crossed her arms, but I could tell she was filled with giddy excitement.

"I haven't been to the seaside since I was a little girl," she mused. "I was thinking just this morning how wonderful it would be for the two of us to spend a week near the ocean…watch the waves and the sunset."

She finished with a little sigh that promised me no matter what I said we were headed for the seashore.

"Do you know how to swim?" I asked.

The glazed-over look in her eyes never faded. She nodded. "My father taught me to fill my lungs with air and float. I could teach you, if you'd like. You're not afraid of water, are you?"

To that I snorted. "Afraid of water? Never."

"Then perhaps in a few years we could bring the children. Lissy has never seen the ocean before and I'm sure Alex would find it simply mesmerizing."

Unintentionally, I yawned. "He would."

"They could gather seashells, build castles in the sand. It would be a wonderful time for the children." With a honeymoon on my mind, I wasn't thinking about what sort of adventure Alex and Lisette would have.

"Indeed. Wonderful."

Julia stood and gathered the cups and saucers. "I should ask you for all sorts of things now, while I'm sure you wouldn't remember a word of it later in the day."

I followed her into the kitchen, my feet heavy as lead and my eyes refusing to stay open. "What is it you want?" I mumbled.

She placed the tray on the kitchen counter and then wrapped her arms around me. "I'm content."

-o-

Once I left Julia's house and reached my back door, I heard Bessie howling. I gritted my teeth, wondering how long she'd been moaning—and why no one had dragged her down to the cellar to quiet her. However, I was glad no one had shut her away. I absolutely detested when Madeline pushed her into the dark and made her whine alone.

It was Madeline who I found sitting at the kitchen table. She startled me as she sat in meager candlelight with her chin resting in her palm. I reached into my pocket for my mask but it was unnecessary. I wondered when I would grow accustomed to being without it in front of her.

"It's almost five in the morning," she muttered.

"Replacing Big Ben?" I scowled as I bent and allowed the dog to bathe me with her tongue. She acted as though she hadn't seen me for days.

"Madame Seuratti said you went for a walk."

"I did."

"Good. You spend far too much time bent over a desk. I worry your spine will permanently curl and you won't be able to stand straight. You do have very good posture. It would be a shame to waste it."

"Indeed."

She stood. "Well, I'm happy you returned."

"Was there any doubt?" Her incessant blabbering irritated me. I was never awake at this hour for any reason. Paris could have been under siege and I would have put a pillow over my head, yet the sound of her voice kept me wide awake.

"Some men become nervous before their wedding day and…wander off."

"Then it's a good thing I returned before you sent out the dog to herd me."

She chuckled and crossed her arms. "I should give up on hoping that one day you'll be less irritable."

"I'm not irritable."

Her smile widened. "And disagreeable."

"I'm not disagreeable." My nostrils flared. "It's early. Of course I'm disagreeable."

"Then I won't keep you," she replied innocently. "Even the groom needs his rest before the big day."

My eyes narrowed. "Are you attempting to make me confess?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Concerning my whereabouts."

"You said you went for a walk. I assume you took Bessie to the park and then went for a stroll on your own." She smiled again. "Of course, you are a grown man and it's none of my business."

This was a trick if ever there was one, yet still I nodded rather than walk away and climb into bed. "You are correct." That should have ended the conversation, but I knew she wasn't done harassing me.

"But when you're married I do hope you tell Madame Seuratti where you intend to walk, otherwise she may worry."

She had the gall to walk away from me and I stomped after her. "Why don't you come right out and ask me, Madeline?"

"Excuse me?"

"You know exactly what I mean. If you want to ask where I've been, then ask."

She shrugged as though she didn't have a care in the world. "Fine, if you wish me to ask, then I will. Where have you been?"

"Speaking with my cousin," I blurted out.

Her eyes widened, lips parted in surprise. If she hadn't held firmly to her cane I'm certain she would have fallen over.

"How—?"

"Julia's cousin knows him."

"Yes, but how did you know of him? I've never heard you mention any blood relatives."

"Must I write down my life for you?" I snapped. She glared at me, and for a moment I feared the brass end of her cane cracking my shin. "I traveled with his father, my uncle, for a brief time in my youth, but I never made his son's acquaintance until tonight. His name is Joshua Kimmer."

"Is he related to Monsieur Valgarde Kimmer?"

"That is the same man."

She placed her hand over her heart and faintly smiled. "Erik. A cousin. My, God…how wonderful for you…for Alex," was all she could utter before her eyes filled with tears.


	45. Time

OW45

Laughter woke me far earlier than I would have preferred and tore me from a dream of sitting in a dark-paneled parlor sipping tea with Julia and Joshua. Struggle as I might, I could not hold onto the dream, and as I stared at the ceiling I attempted to recall if it was a good dream or a nightmare.

The sound of both Ruby and Meg tittering like mice was followed by Madeline ordering them to be silent before they woke me—or before Meg put herself into labor. It never failed to amaze me how much louder she was than anyone else.

"Does laughter really send women into labor?" Ruby questioned.

"I think Mother is just being dramatic."

Meg's words made me smile. She'd become bold during her transformation from child to mother.

If there had been any chance of merely turning over and falling asleep again, it was ruined by the plans of a playful ball of fur. Aria pounced on my head and bit my hair in an attempt to murder me for sleeping on her pillow. With a grunt of protest I waved a hand at her, which she also attacked. Her sandpaper tongue licked my ear while she purred so loudly I could have sworn she'd become a tiger.

"Enjoy it while you can," I muttered. "Julia will never allow you in our room."

I sat up and wondered who had more clout over the matter: A kitten or Julia? They were equally tenacious.

"Alexandre, you come down here at once! Your father is sleeping!" Madeline howled. I reached for my hairpiece and parted the curtain. While dust motes swirled in the fractured morning light, I straightened my hair.

"No, he's not!"

"Alexandre Jean Kire!" She emphasized her point with a thump of her cane on the wall, to which I answered with a knock on the wall.

"Ahhhh." She gave an exaggerated sigh. "Are you satisfied now? You woke him."

The bedroom door burst open, then slammed shut before I got a good look at him. I ran my fingers through my hair and yawned while I waited for him to cull his excitement and regain his manners.

"Father? Are you awake?"

"I am."

"May I come in before Uncle Charles calls me to my lesson?"

I glanced at the clock and saw it was already after nine. He had a good fifteen minutes before Charles would call him down, at which time I would visit Julia and together we would hire a cab and ride to my cousin's home.

"Yes, you—"

He thrust the door open, plopped on my bed, and placed Aria on his lap. She reluctantly stayed with him for a moment before she hopped off his lap and claimed her pillow.

"Are you nervous?" he asked. "Lissy said you should be nervous."

"Are you nervous?" I questioned.

He laughed devilishly but didn't answer. My stomach tightened, which I passed off as hunger.

"Why should I be nervous?" I questioned as I unbuttoned my nightshirt and set it on the back of my chair.

"Because you have to live with Madame Seuratti after you're married."

He made it sound absolutely dreadful.

"And you'll never be able to make a decision on your own because Lissy said that's her mother's job and she is quite cross when anyone tells her otherwise."

"I will be the man of the house," I grumbled as I pulled a clean shirt out of the wardrobe.

He shrugged as though my words meant nothing. First I was put in my place by a cat and now my son was certain Julia would cow me.

"Alexandre!" Charles called up. "I told you five minutes, Monsieur, and it's been six."

"I'm almost downstairs!" he hollered.

"You are not. I'm at the bottom of the stairs."

Alex winced. "Well, you shouldn't be nervous, Father."

"I'm not."

"It's only a wedding." He jumped up and scampered away before I could reply.

I hastily buttoned my shirt and walked to the bedroom door. "Charles."

He sat at the bottom of the stairs with Alex behind him, prepared to wheel him into the study.

"Yes, Monsieur?"

"See to it that Alexandre practices his music for tomorrow."

"I already know it!" He had decided to be a blue-blooded French boy, ornery as they come.

"Then play it backward."

Alex returned a toothy grin and pushed Charles down the hall. Once the two of them were gone, I returned to my room and finished dressing, realizing for the first time I'd buttoned my shirt wrong. My hands trembled as I buttoned it correctly, my aggravation growing as I wasted precious time.

-o-

Julia was waiting in the kitchen for me when I walked into her home. The moment I looked at her I felt nervous about our pending meeting with Joshua Kimmer.

"Did you sleep well?" she questioned.

"After I was accosted by Madeline and managed to free myself? Yes, I slept fine," I snapped.

She raised a brow. "She was still awake?"

"Indeed."

"Are you nervous?"

"Why does everyone expect me to be nervous?"

She didn't answer. "Is Alex joining us?"

"He has his lessons to attend to this morning."

"But couldn't he—?"

"No."

"Lisette wanted to help Ruby with shopping, so she'll be over at your house while we're gone."

"Fine, fine." I glanced at my pocket watch. Even if we left immediately we would be at least five minutes late. I wanted to be prompt, but that would not happen.

She stood and squared her shoulders. "Shall we?"

It took a good ten minutes to hail a cab and once we did, the driver was more willing to tell Julia that his wife had the same bonnet she wore rather than drive us to our destination. By the time we reached Kimmer's street we were twenty-five minutes late.

"Are you all right?" Julia questioned.

"Fine."

"You're liable to punch a hole through the floor if you continue tapping your foot," she replied.

"Am I not allowed to tap my foot?"

She pursed her lips. "You've already met him, Erik. There's no need to be so nervous. You already said the two of you got along fine."

"That was yesterday."

"Yes…"

"And we mostly talked about the dog."

"It's better than talking about taxes," she offered.

I saw my reflection in the window and my jaw tightened. What would we discuss today? More friendly banter that amounted to nonsense? I should have asked Julia to make cakes or told Madeline to bring up the best bottle of wine from the cellar. I would have felt better if I'd had a gift of some sort in hand, something better to offer than my company. At least I'd had the good sense to bring Julia.

The cab hit a bump in the road and I sat back hard against the backrest and swallowed, attempting to keep my heart in my chest.

Julia placed her hand over mine and squeezed gently. I stared at her fingers and the ring I'd given her, which reminded me of Alex's words. It was only a wedding. Only one day of my life to become one with Julia, standing before our families.

"My God," I whispered. Tomorrow at six in the evening we would exchange vows. How could I feel as though my nerves were about to explode when I stood on the brink of having what I'd always dreamed of? My living, breathing wife.

"What is it?"

"Alex and Lisette's nonsense," I grumbled.

Julia tilted her head to the side. "I don't understand."

The coach came to a stop before I could elaborate. We'd arrived at my cousin's home and I wasn't sure if I was prepared for a meeting in the light of day.

"He has a very nice townhouse," Julia said. "Though the rose bushes could use a good trim."

The rose bushes didn't concern me in the least. The opaque curtains in the windows were parted, the white door with dark green trim awaiting guests. Even the brass door knocker gleamed in the sunlight. It was suddenly too real.

"Shall we sit here a while longer or would you like to go inside?" Julia asked.

Quite frankly, I would have preferred sending her in alone, but that wasn't feasible. I opened the hack door and stepped outside. The bright light made me squint, and for a moment I was blinded. Julia took my hand, squeezed tighter than need be as she stepped out, and took her place beside me.

There was no time for panic—or rather, further panic. The front door opened and out stepped Joshua Kimmer. He looked more like his father now than ever, and for a moment I feared taking a step forward and destroying the image.

"I was worried," he said. He held his hand out and glanced at Julia. "Madame, it is a pleasure to meet you. Compared to your scoundrel of a cousin" he laughed, "you are an angel."

I hastily stepped forward and presented her to Joshua, forgetting that he already knew who she was, at least in name, due to her cousin. I'd almost forgotten Anthony had played a part.

"And the name of this radiant angel?" Joshua asked.

"Madame Julia Seuratti." It made it no less painful when I called her by her widow's name. How I longed to remove that name from her identity.

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Monsieur Kimmer," Julia replied. "I'm afraid Anthony has never mentioned you before."

"Yes, I doubt he'd mention an old man who dotes on his daughter."

"Oh, now, Monsieur Kimmer. You hardly look a day over forty."

He laughed heartily. "Forty passed me long ago and never bothered to wave. Please, I insist you call me Joshua." He looked to me, his gaze briefly resting on the mask. I held my breath until he smiled and nodded. "Both of you. Would you care to step inside?"

Julia looked to me and offered a coy smile.

"If you would have us," I replied.

He hopped lightly up the stairs and opened his front door, revealing a startled maid who swiftly dashed from sight.

"Please, come inside if you have time to spare."

This time I looked to Julia, who clung to my arm. "We have plenty of time."


	46. A Box of Childhood

OW46

"If you would excuse me, there was something I had for you which I left upstairs," Joshua said as he exited the parlor. He paused. "The tea cart is fresh, but I believe the pastries were made yesterday. My apologies."

"You will find few disappointments when it comes to sweets," Julia said.

Joshua raised an eyebrow. "Then I am not alone in my appreciation for an indulgence here and there." He patted his stomach. "Mostly here."

With a delicate laugh, Julia turned to me and smiled as my cousin excused himself. She placed her hand in mine once we sat alone in the dark-paneled parlor. The couch was a deep red color with matching square pillows. Each was decorated with golden fringe, which matched the curtain sashes and the highlights in the fabric walls. The room was cozy yet extravagant, a complement to the townhouse and its owner.

"It reminds me of your home," she whispered. She squeezed my fingers. "Even the paintings look like what you would have hanging in your home."

"Charles selected most of the artwork," I replied.

"But you agreed to have them displayed."

I merely nodded, knowing precisely what she was doing. She'd found similarities in our tastes and wished to link them as proof of blood relations.

"It tickles me that he has a sweet tooth as well." She shrugged her shoulders and pulled off her gloves. "And the similarities between the two of you? It's uncanny."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Of course you wouldn't notice. Everyone always said my second cousin Rosalina and I looked exactly alike but I never saw it. Once she turned eighteen she looked more like my brother."

"Your brother?"

She ran her finger along her upper lip but politely refrained from speaking. I couldn't help but smile at the hidden meaning.

"How fortunate for you," I said once I cleared my voice to keep from laughing.

"For both of us," she replied as she casually picked a string from my cravat. "Would you care for tea?" She stood and peered at the service cart. "There is also coffee."

"Coffee, please."

She'd finished pouring two cups of coffee when Joshua returned with a wooden box in hand. He smiled, poured himself a cup of coffee and took his seat across from us in a brocade chair. He balanced a plate piled high with a generous amount of cookies. Perhaps we did have our similarities after all.

Now that we were situated, I had no idea what we would say to one another. The clocked counted the seconds and I stared at the woolen rug beneath my feet.

"You have a lovely, lovely home," Julia said. Her spoon softly clinked against her coffee cup. "Erik and I were just speaking of how beautiful the paintings are."

"You are very kind. I will send your compliments to the artist. Perhaps I will even ask him to send you one of his newer pieces as a wedding gift, though I'm sure he'd overcharge me for several swipes to the canvas. He's always been a scoundrel."

"The two of you must be close," Julia replied. I could feel her watching me from the corner of her eye, willing me to join in the conversation.

"Indeed we are."

"Who is the artist?" I asked.

"My brother. I trust my father spoke of Felandt's early artwork with mud on the bedroom wall."

"I recall the name," I said. Julia squeezed my hand so tightly I thought she'd break my fingers.

"Yes, he's memorable by name but his artwork, as he would say, is unforgettable. He tends to think quite highly of himself." Joshua chuckled to himself. "Though I believe he is better known in his own mind than by the general public. Fortunately, he kept his job as a banker."

"Everyone in your family is talented," Julia commented. "It must run in your bloodline."

"Does he live in Paris?" I asked.

"On occasion," he said. "He calls Seine Bay home, says he prefers living closer to the ocean. It feeds the artist within him, he says. When he has grown tired of the murmur of the sea, the constant sunshine, and the feeling of being on a permanent holiday, he intrudes upon my home and eats everything in sight." He tapped the wooden box he'd brought into the parlor. My gaze fixed on it.

"We're traveling to the seaside for our honeymoon," Julia said.

I suppose that finalized our plans.

"You intend to return home?" He cocked a brow and looked at me.

"The French seaside," I answered.

"Have you ever been back to—?"

"Once."

"Once," he echoed.

"When I was twenty."

He nodded. "I was around that age the last time I was there. It hadn't changed much."

"I returned for…personal effects," I answered.

My parent's house had been abandoned, and I never knew how long it had stood in shambles. Compelled to see it one last time, I had entered the boarded back door and wandered through the house, recalling where my mother had often sat. In her bedroom, torn apart by looters, I had found small figurines on her dresser. I'd stolen them from the house, deciding they belonged to me. It was all I wanted from my parents. Now they belonged to the rubble of the opera house.

He nodded and placed his plate and cup on a round table beside his chair. He selected a cookie from the small heap and took a bite. "I've heard it has fallen into poverty. Poor fishing conditions in the last few years took away many jobs. It pains me to think of the place my father loved so dearly now in ruins."

"It was in ruins when I left," I said bitterly.

"Then it was better that you didn't stay," he replied.

"Yes." I released Julia's hand in favor of reaching for my coffee cup.

"Would either of you care for a cookie?" He leaned forward and presented the plate. Julia removed three and placed two on my saucer.

"They look delicious," she said.

"Your cousin made them. Sometimes I think he sends them over merely to stay in my good graces," Joshua said. He dunked his cookie into his coffee and smiled like a devious child. "He doesn't think I notice the way he looks at my daughter. The boy must think I've gone blind. He obviously doesn't understand that a father's vision is never better than when it comes to his daughter."

"Or a mother's," Julia added.

Joshua nodded. "You'll find fathers are more protective while mothers are more understanding of their daughters who lose their hearts to less than worthy young men."

Julia and I exchanged looks and she smiled at me. "You consider Anthony unworthy?"

"Out of all the boys she's given doe eyes to, he's the only one I haven't wanted to hit over the head the moment he first spoke." He shrugged. "He's a good man. Never tell him I said that or he'll think he can ask for my daughter's hand."

He placed his hand on the box and drummed his fingers on the top. "Enough talk of Anthony Seuratti. Now that I have finally had the opportunity to speak with you, there is something I've wanted to give you for years."

Julia inhaled a sharp breath on my behalf.

"Erik, this is for you." Joshua sat forward and handed me the box.

My breath lodged in my throat as I accepted the gift and held the small cherry wood box in both hands. It was plain, decorated only with a brass latch that had seen better days.

Julia leaned against my arm in order to gain a better look as I flipped the latch and opened the box, my hands trembling.

I stared at the yellowed letters bound with twine. Without reading the handwriting, I knew precisely what they were and looked up at Joshua.

"These are yours."

He nodded. "They are addressed to me, yes."

"I cannot take them."

"Of course you can."

"Monsieur—"

"Joshua," he corrected. "And I insist you keep them, Erik."

Somehow I managed to resist the urge to untie the knot binding the letters and open the top envelope.

Joshua indulged in another cookie before he dabbed the corners of his mouth with a napkin and smiled. "They have waited many years for you to claim them. I have letters from my father to remind me of him. These should belong to you." He paused and smiled. "He would have wanted you to have them. Read them when you have the opportunity and you will see why."

I looked at the box of letters and recalled evenings spent around a campfire, of an earless dog and a ornery donkey...a tribe I'd long forgotten--or chose not to remember. My childhood still lived within a box of old notes.

Julia sniffled, which drew my attention away from Joshua. She'd turned away from me to remove her lace handkerchief from her reticule and dabbed at her eyes.

"I apologize," she whispered. "I'm just…I'm happy for you."

We stayed in Joshua Kimmer's home for an hour longer while Julia revealed wedding plans to both of us. Her tears had long since dried as she told us the exact shade of red the flowers would be and how long it took to sew the beads onto her veil. Halfway through she apologized for dominating the conversation, but Joshua seemed genuinely interested in what she had to say.

"My father would have loved you, Julia," he said as his maid hurried into the parlor and collected the dishes and service cart. "I wish he would have met my daughter Elizabeth and my wife. I'd like to think my wife Charlotte is with him now, listening to his stories. He enjoyed a story, didn't he?"

I nodded. I'd had no stories for him, but I'd listened to many of his own.

"I don't want to keep the two of you when you have so many things to plan and organize before tomorrow."

The three of us stood and he showed us to the door. It looked like it might rain soon and I wondered if we'd have a difficult time hailing a cab for the return trip home.

"Congratulations to the both of you," he said as he kissed Julia on the cheek and then turned to shake my hand.

"The ceremony is at six in the evening," I said. My heart thumped wildly and I was surprised I could still speak. In inviting him to the wedding it felt as though I also invited his father. "If you would care to attend."

His smile broadened. "It would be an honor, Cousin."


	47. Voice from the Past

First of all I'll say I won't be stopping any of my stories, but due to a huge opportunity in writing I will be updating about once every two weeks as my time allows. I really cannot allow for this opportunity to slip past me, and I know you all stand behind me 100 and want me to succeed. Your constant support has been a huge inspiration and I do appreciate you for reading not just this story but all of my stories. Bear with me! It takes up a lot of time to think and write about these. I promise you Erik will marry Julia by the end of the week!

Thanks again,

Gabrina

OW47

"Open it."

Julia had me pinned between her warm body and the cold, hard interior of our cab. She was determined to read the letters long before I ever opened a single envelope.

"I will."

She leaned in closer and the box's edge dug into my ribs. "When?"

"Soon, Madame."

"When you return home?"

"I have not yet decided, but if you lean any further into me the corner of the box will impale me.

Her shoulders squared and she pursed her lips. "My apologies. It does belong to you and I should mind my own business. It's just…I'm excited for you."

"I never would have guessed," I muttered.

She was undeterred by my tone. If she couldn't open the box, she would do her best to pry me open instead. "It's as though a puzzle has existed for a lifetime and we never knew it was there."

"I knew it was there," I mumbled. But I hadn't shared it with her, with anyone at all. The suffering was my own. My jaw clenched and I wondered if Julia would think I was keeping the truth from her. With a frown, I looked at her and decided to plead my case. "But I never—"

"You weren't ready to share it with anyone." She smiled and placed her hand over mine. "I don't take it personally, Erik. I sometimes forget you're a very private person."

Her fingers laced with mine and she placed her head on my shoulder for the remainder of the trip. While we sat in silence I stared at the top of the box, still unable to comprehend what I held in my grasp. No part of him meant more to me than his words.

"I will read them to you," I said softly. "If you'd like to hear them."

"When you're ready," Julia replied. "They're yours first and foremost. I will wait."

By the time the carriage stopped at her home, my arm had fallen asleep. My hand was so numb I nearly dropped the wooden box.

Both Alex and Lisette bounded around the corner moments after I paid the driver.

"You're back!" Alex shouted, making certain all of Paris knew we'd returned. Lisette turned and waved her hands in front of his face, which I assumed was to silence him.

"What has happened?" Julia questioned. She clutched her reticule and looked them both over.

"Nothing, Mother," Lisette answered. "Alex is simply being a boy."

Alex looked at me with a serious expression. "Uncle Charles said you may have eloped."

"But Aunt Meg said Mother Giry would have killed you both with her bare hands if you even considered it," Lisette added.

This time it was Alex who waved his hands in front of Lisette. "My Aunt Meg said not to tell!"

"You two should not lower yourselves to gossiping," Julia replied. She ushered them up the walkway and toward the front door. "It's unbecoming of a lady, and Alex, gentlemen always respect others."

They mumbled their apologies and as reward, Julia sent them off to play before supper. She crossed her arms and shook her head as they stampeded out the back door.

"Poor, poor Mother Giry," she whispered as she put her arm around my waist. I could still hear the children squealing as they ran through the back door of my house, where I was certain they terrorized Ruby.

"I beg your pardon?"

"It seems like a form of torture to leave Madame Giry with the two of them for ten days."

"She'll be fine," I insisted. I would have said anything given the realization that Julia would be mine—without interruption—for ten days. That alone was reason to celebrate.

"I suppose you're right. She did raise Meg…and she's accustomed to children after all those years in the opera house." She gazed at me and smiled. "And Lissy is old enough to take care of herself and Alex."

"Alex would be insulted."

"I didn't mean it as an insult. It's just that Lissy enjoys mothering others. She was born older than most children. She's always been this way."

I ignored her words in favor of wrapping my arms around her, which elicited a laugh of surprise. "What would you like to eat for lunch?"

"Always practical," I murmured.

"Well, you cannot sustain yourself on cookies alone."

I grasped her hand and kissed the smooth underside of her wrist. "I could sustain myself on you, Madame."

"Tempting," she sighed.

"Very." I exhaled against her flesh, allowed my lips to brush against her forearm until her fingers squeezed mine. "Too tempting to resist."

"Well, you'll have to curb your appetite. I have a thousand tasks to complete before tomorrow evening." She looked at me and tilted her head to the side. "And I'd like our wedding night to be special."

"It _will_ be special."

"And it will be even more special if we control ourselves."

My jaw tightened. "How can you possibly ask me to control myself when you do nothing but lure me into your hold?"

She laughed and patted my chest. "You've just made me into some sort of predatory animal. You're terrible."

"Indeed."

"Oh, Erik, please try to understand. I want to remember tomorrow as the day I married the man I love, not the day I married because my grandfather found a husband for me. Isn't this at all special to you?"

Pain flickered in her gaze and she frowned.

"I've asked the only woman I've ever loved to marry me. Other than the day Alex arrived in my home, placing a ring onto your finger and knowing you will wear it for the rest of your life will make tomorrow the most special day in my life."

She flung her arms around me with greater force than I had anticipated, which only rekindled my need for her. With one quick kiss, she handed me the box and told me lunch would be prepared in two hours.

I couldn't keep my eyes off the box lid as I returned home and carried it upstairs. No one was around—not even Ruby. Madeline was down the hall speaking with Meg, and I disappeared up the stairs before she could accost me.

My hands trembled, my throat dry as I opened the lid and stared at the contents. The edges of the stationery were curled, the envelope creased in the middle. I imagined it tucked inside The Shadow's coat pocket, traveling across Germany. Had it been the one I attempted to read? I couldn't recall how many letters he'd mailed but the box—large enough for a woman's pair of boots—was filled.

Filled with memories of days where hope sometimes felt as close as a smile and as far as the next dawn. Nights of traveling, days of sleeping…laughter…anger…sadness. I'd learned to tie knots, to make a fire, to steal. I'd realized my potential—because he'd seen it first.

Slowly I unbound the letters and brought one to my face. Inhaling, I hoped for a whiff of pipe smoke, for the crinkle of paper to summon the sound of laughter. He was still with me in spirit, this father I'd been allowed in my life for only a brief time. I'd gone from adoring him in his lifetime, mourning him when he'd died, and hating him once he was buried as his wisdom no longer mine. Back and forth I'd teetered, loving and hating him, much as I'd picked apart my own life.

I'd latched onto the extremes of his personality, the polars of his life. But now I'd found the center, the even ground I'd never dared to tread. He was a whole man, but as a ghost I'd merely picked up his fragments.

I thought about what Joshua had said, how his father would have loved Julia. He was correct, his father would have loved the woman who'd placed those pieces together, who'd searched for more than mere fragments.

The tears remained at bay as I opened the letter and smoothed the fragile page. I read, the lump in my throat growing with each word.

_Valgarde Joshua,_

_I will not live to see you again, my son. I do not know what keeps me alive even now. Perhaps it is the need to write you this letter and tell you good-bye. Perhaps it is the need to write you again tomorrow. _

_Do not worry about me or my health. My life has been lived well and you have made me proud. Take care of your brother._

_I would say he is the only family you will have but this is not true. Last night I met a young man. He is frightened, but he is intelligent and I have seen him many times before. He just doesn't know it. While he thinks he is clever, he has no idea there are others keener than he. _

_Thirteen years ago your uncle and his wife said their son had died. The child was born with an ailment, though they never said what the ailment was. I knew for certain I'd heard a baby wail from their home mere days after they said they'd buried their infant son. Why I didn't ask them where they kept the infant I don't know, but I am responsible for this child. He has lived his life in their cellar due to an affliction I do not believe is his fault, not even in birth. Twice I've seen him escape, but I will not tolerate this maltreatment._

_Do not question why. I have a feeling you already know why I feel compelled to take in your uncle's son. _

_In coming days I will write once more. There is my reason for living a day longer, my son. You have grown and now live your life, for which I am proud. Your brother never had the opportunity to do so, but perhaps his spirit will find new life in the eyes of his forgotten cousin. _

_I will write you soon,_

_Your Father and Friend,_

_A.K._


	48. Blood Red Roses

OW48

His love for his son reminded me of the affection I had for Alex. He mentioned me in every letter, each time with fondness—even when I knew it was the days I had aggravated him.

He said he thought of me as his son and that he wished I had been born to him and his wife. It was then that I could no longer merely read his words. I cried openly, weeping for the man who had died without ever knowing how much I loved him. I had never thanked him for taking me in.

I wondered if he ever thought of me as an ingrate. In my heart I believed in his written words, that I gave him more than he'd ever given me. With a son of my own I understood the sentiment. Alex depended on me and I knew he did care for me, but I loved and wished to protect him. It was different, this love of a father, as opposed to the love of a son for an elder. My uncle had been a father to me. It made my heart ache to imagine he had felt stronger for me than I had felt for him.

By the time I reached the bottom of the box my throat was raw and my eyes red. I could scarcely believe my eyes when I saw the unopened letter waiting for my discovery. In perfectly crafted print was my name—my given name.

Erik Kimmer.

He'd never let on he was writing a letter to me and I snatched it up, turning it over in my hand as though once it was tangible it was also real. No one had ever written me a letter before, unless it pertained to business. I'd written plenty of my own personal lettets but I didn't recall ever receiving correspondence. This was most definitely the first. I couldn't decide if I wanted to read it or I wished to preserve it.

I could hear Alex's laughter downstairs, followed by Charles, who had the loudest laugh I'd ever heard. He could rattle the walls with one hearty chuckle.

"Wait until I tell Father," Alex said. He was heading up the stairs but Charles called him back down and told him he had English lessons to get through first before he snuck away.

With the sound of Alex's voice my decision was made for me. As carefully as I could I opened the letter and stared at the yellowed papers within. This was mine, not Joshua's. This was meant for me, a gift from the past. As much as pain ripped through me, I felt as though I'd healed somewhere deep inside, the beginning of long-awaited mending.

"Oh, Uncle," I whispered.

There were three pages written on both front and back. I wanted to read it fast, to get to the end and see what he said, but I also wanted to savor each word, to memorize each line until it was stamped into my heart and never forgotten.

_Erik,_

_I will not live to see you to Paris and into my son's home. This letter will be waiting for you, which I'm sure you have already realized. Forgive me, but as I write this you are sleeping across from me and I cannot believe our days are nearly at an end._

_In your heart you know I will not live much longer. There is much I wish to tell and show you but my stamina has betrayed me. You are frustrated. I see it in your eyes when we stop for the day. It is unfair to you, what I have done. I wish I could have kept you in a house, in a quiet place where you belong, not roaming the wilds with an old man. _

_I will start by asking for your forgiveness, my son. By the time you read this, I have no doubt you will be angry with me for abandoning you. Believe me, if I could have chosen an eternity in hell in exchange for another month to guide you, I would have gladly given my soul to the devil. You are a son to me as much as my own children. _

"Do not apologize to me," I whispered to his lingering ghost. Now more than ever I felt him, as though he sat beside me on my bed, his hand mere inches from my shoulder, his eyes trained on my face.

Perhaps if I turned fast enough I would catch a glimpse of him but I couldn't risk an empty expectation. I pressed my eyes closed, braced myself, and continued to read.

_I know you wish to learn more of your family but are embarrassed to ask. Curiosity, as I have told you, is natural. A young man of your age should be expected to ask as many questions as humanly possible. It is the only way to learn. Of course, I would be remiss if I didn't acknowledge that you are now thirteen years of age and most likely assume you know everything._

I chuckled to myself, wondering what reaction he would have anticipated if I'd read it all those years ago. There was no doubt in my mind he expected me to make it to Paris alone and find his son, who had expected us. I still recalled his final words, his final breaths. The memory numbed me to my heart, the trepidation I had felt rushed back as I stared at the pages.

My first thought was what would happen to Alex if I could no longer care for him. Without Madeline, Meg, and Charles to watch over him, I very well would have made myself ill with worry, but I knew he would live well. It brought me an unexpected sense of relief to know my fears would never belong to my son.

_What I will tell you of your mother and father is biased. I will freely admit I have not cared for your father since we were small children and I have often wondered if he kept you hidden away to prevent me from interfering with his life. If you recall the story I told you of my youngest son you know why he would wish to hide you from me. Your mother would say it was God's will, or that I had brought it upon them. How two people could call such a remarkable child a curse upon their family is beyond me. _

_They didn't deserve you. After all their years of remaining childless I had hoped your mother would never conceive. Please understand this is not a remark toward you. Forgive me when I say I absolutely despised both of them. It is wrong of me to hate my own brother, but he was not a good man. To call him a dog is an insult to Girl._

He wrote in great detail his loathing for his brother and sister-in-law. I had never guessed during our time together that he felt so strongly because he rarely alluded to his anger. Once in a while he would mutter under his breath, but this was outright abhorrence.

I turned the page over and closed my eyes. "I have forgiven them, Uncle," I said under my breath.

Perhaps it was only my imagination but the air seemed lighter, scented faintly with roses. The window was wide open and one of Meg's precious rose bushes had climbed the trellis high enough to reach my window. Roses in full bloom swayed in the breeze, their petals red as blood.

I retrieved a pair of scissors and cut one from the bush. For a long while I stared at the petals, found them wrinkled and withered. The summer heat had damaged them, yet they smelled as sweet as any rose.

I placed the flower on the bed beside the opened letter and picked up my violin. The smell of polish permeated the air, and as I closed my eyes I prepared to play a requiem for him, one I should have played long ago—one I could not have done justice to until now.

It was finally time to tell him good-bye.


	49. A Mother's Unspoken Love

OW49

"Why are you up here all alone?"

Madeline, who had stomped and muttered curses as she climbed the stairs, stood in the doorway of my bedroom and groaned.

"Am I no longer allowed a moment of peace?" I sat at my desk and hastily placed all of my letters into the box and closed the lid.

She groaned again. "Oh, my aching bones."

I was beginning to think she'd bothered to climb the stairs merely to incite a bit of sympathy for herself. She irritated me, acting as though I had nothing better to do with my last afternoon as a bachelor than to listen to her aches and pains.

"What is the matter with you?" I snapped.

"My knees. Did I ever tell you I once fell on a wet floor?"

"Yes." Quite extensively, I thought to myself. It had happened when "those fools" in the opera house had mopped but not bothered to leave any indication that the marble floor was wet. She'd run to tell "someone something" and had fallen on her already bad knee. Why it was bad before then she never said. I often wondered if it had happened at all.

"And then I fell in the snow two months before Meg was born."

"Her head is lop-sided," I said under my breath.

She stormed over to me, both of her legs perfectly capable of carrying her across the floor, and pinched my elbow. "Her head is _not_ lop-sided. It's perfectly fine. My joints, on the other hand, have suffered a lifetime of abuse."

"Your knee seems fine as well."

She grunted. "It comes and goes. Now, honestly, why are you up here all alone? Surely Madame Seuratti isn't finishing the last wedding details alone, is she?"

"She's making lunch. Or supper." I had no idea what hour it was but the onset of hunger had made its presence known.

"Where are the children eating tonight?"

"You are better off asking Julia." I twisted around to face her and she looked at me with the most peculiar expression. "I beg your pardon?"

She shook her head and wrung her hands. "Meg asked me if Alex was eating here tonight. She's afraid she'll miss him once he's…gone."

"Ah, I see."

"What should I tell Meg?"

That woman was a terrible liar. Meg may have wondered where Alex and Lisette were eating, but it wasn't in Meg's nature to moan over Alex's absence. He most often badgered her for sweets or prodded her with questions. If anything, she would be happy to have an afternoon of silence—until she had a child of her own.

"Tell her to ask Alex."

Madeline sighed heavily, unwilling to give up her game of nonsense. She exhausted me; pretending she was only concerned for her daughter when it was she who worried about never seeing Alex again.

"Does Meg realize Alex will be one house away?" I questioned.

"Of course she does. She's a bright woman."

"Then tell her if she wishes to have Alex stay here for supper she may ask him to do so and he will listen to his grand-mere."

"Aunt," she corrected. She swallowed hard but gave the slightest hint of a smile. I knew she was satisfied with my answer. Just as I knew her, she knew me.

"His aunt," I replied. I pinched the bridge of my nose. "What else, Madeline?"

"Nothing. Well, not nothing," she rambled. "I merely wanted to see if you needed anything before you returned to Madame Seuratti's home."

"Such as?"

Once again she appeared frustrated. "You are in a surly mood today, aren't you?"

Only Madeline would turn her mood into mine and blame me for it. I turned away from her and stood. "I prefer ornery."

"Stubborn as well."

"Indeed."

She peeked over my shoulder. "What's in the box?"

"Jewelry, from Marie Antoinette's private collection," I answered dryly.

She muffled a growl of dissatisfaction. The woman had absolutely no sense of humor. "If you wish to be alone you need merely express such and I'll return downstairs."

I'd thought a closed door implied the need for privacy but apparently Madeline subscribed to the same rules of privacy as Alex: A locked door begged for a momentary void of interruption, and even then a caller should shout or bang on the door until it was opened.

"I'm sifting through a box of letters I received from my cousin," I explained.

She made herself comfortable as I told her where the letters had come from and how Joshua had given them to me earlier in the day. She appeared pleased and nodded when I opened the lid to show her the box's contents.

"That was kind of him," she remarked.

"It was." I didn't know if she meant Joshua for giving me the letters or his father for writing them.

"It's amazing, isn't it?"

"I beg your pardon?"

She had a gleam in her eye. "This last week, how everything has happened all at once."

I crossed my arms and studied her a moment. "I suppose Meg is quite pleased with these developments?"

She blushed but ignored my words, which I had fully expected. We'd learned over the years that it was sometimes unnecessary to speak. Implications were enough. Anything else was far too much for comfort.

"Will you invite your cousin to the wedding?" she asked.

"We did, yes."

"And?"

"And I believe he will attend."

This particularly seemed to please her. Before her smile widened she squared her shoulders and cleared her voice. "Did you tell Ruby she had another place to set at the table? Or are there two places to set?"

"Two," I replied, deciding it was better to have one place vacant rather than be short a setting for a guest.

"If we have additional guests you and Alex will have to build another table. Ruby and I already put both leafs in and ironed the table cloth." She was almost beside herself with anticipation for the following day's festivities. "Meg is polishing the good silver."

I eyed her, having not the slightest clue what she was speaking of. "What good silver?"

"The good silver," she replied as though it was clear. "I keep it in the cabinet with the good dishes."

"You've spent my money on good dishes and good silverware you keep holed away in a cabinet?"

She bristled. I imagined if she was a hen she would have fluffed up her feathers and clucked—or proceed to peck me to death.

"You know I only spend your funds when absolutely necessary, _Monsieur_. The good silverware and china are mine from my wedding," she said haughtily. I considered asking if they were now antiques but held my tongue. "The punch bowl, which you've also never seen, is Meg's from her wedding. I gave it to her as a gift."

I grunted. It made no sense to me why anyone would buy expensive silverware and never use it. I couldn't imagine what she was saving it for all these years.

She had the audacity to shake her head at me. "You seem… irritated."

"I'm not irritated. I'm occupied."

She gave a solemn nod. "I'll leave you to your reading."

"Where is Alex?" It wasn't like him to stay away from my room for more than an hour or two. Normally he found an excuse between lessons to run up and explain cloud formations or Mongolian battle tactics, but today he'd been strangely quiet. With the letters in my possession I hadn't bothered to walk downstairs and eavesdrop on his lessons.

"Monsieur Lowry excused him early, so he's helping Meg sew. Charles wanted to finish his speech before it was too late tonight. You should look it over like he asked."

"When did he ask?"

"This morning he asked me to ask you."

"Fine. I'll be downstairs in a moment."

"Shall I send Alex up to see you?"

Before I could answer, Alex yelled for Madeline from the bottom of the stairs and she sighed.

"Yes," I said dryly. "I believe Meg will miss him."

"We will all miss him." Her hand pressed to the middle of my back. "We'll miss both of you."

"What would you do if I moved him to Africa?"

She grunted. "I'd never allow it."


	50. Hairum

OW

Alex walked briskly into my bedroom and issued me the sternest expression I'd ever seen him wear. I looked at him as he stood in the doorway, then glanced behind me, assuming he'd seen someone else and was glaring at them.

"Father," he said. "We must speak at once."

I inhaled, prepared for the usual conversation with my son—which is to say there was no way to prepare. In one instance he could ask me how sausage was made and the next he could inquire about Aphrodite. There was no telling what he would ask on the eve of my wedding.

"Are you nervous?" he asked.

My brow rose as I'd thought we'd already had this conversation. "No, I'm not."

"Why not?" he asked.

"Do you want me to be nervous?"

He looked me over, which reminded me far too much of Madeline. She had a way about her, a masterful expression that said more than words.

"Yes, I think you should be nervous," he said finally, his eyes narrowed.

"I beg your pardon?" This needed an explanation.

"Do you realize what tomorrow is?"

"Yes." He was more a father than a son in that moment. It amused me to see him so terribly concerned.

"Do you?" He scrutinized my affirmation.

"Don't be irritating, Alex," I snapped before I turned away and looked for something to preoccupy my time while he badgered me over nonsense.

"It's important."

"What is?"

"Tomorrow. It's the most important day. Ever."

"In all of history," I said under my breath.

"Everyone I've talked to said you should be nervous," he said with an irritatingly casual tone.

"And just whom have you been speaking with, Alexandre?"

"People who know," he said. He seemed a little too certain of himself and his acquaintances.

"Aunt Meg and Uncle Charles?"

"Yes."

"Grand-mere Giry?"

"Yes."

"Madame Seuratti and Mademoiselle Lisette?"

"Yes and no. I've decided Lisette doesn't know anything because she's just a girl."

"Save that mindset for Wednesday," I grumbled.

"But I also spoke with Mademoiselle Leach and with Ruby because they're _women_," he said with the dreaminess of a boy who thought he knew what separated girls from ladies, but honestly hadn't a clue—fortunately for him.

"You're taking advice from Mademoiselle Leach and Mademoiselle Dubois?"

"No, but perhaps you should listen to them. Did you know Ruby is marrying Archie? Blech! The poor girl hasn't any idea what she'll be missing in the world."

"And who exactly told you such nonsense?"

"I told myself."

I grunted. Not even nine years of age and he already had his own wisdom.

"But, Father, the point is that tomorrow is such a big day, the biggest day ever, and you should most definitely be nervous."

"Then I shall be."

He stepped closer and wrung his hands. There was something more he wished to say, but he hadn't found it in himself to ask me just yet. I looked away from him and secretly hoped he would gather his nerve and approach.

"Father?"

"Yes, Alex." I didn't look at him, but I could almost feel his hot breaths on the back of my neck as he stood over me.

"Were you ever married to my mother?"

My heart most certainly stuttered. I finally looked at him, and found a frightened boy in place of the one who had walked into my room declaring tomorrow as an important day.

"Never," I answered.

He solemnly nodded. "Did you ask her?"

"Alex," I started. I sighed and held my anger at bay. "I wanted to marry her, yes. But I did not."

"Why not?"

"For many reasons?"

His hands flexed and relaxed, flexed and relaxed. He no longer looked me in the eye. In fact, he barely looked in my direction. "Was I one of the reasons why she wouldn't marry you?"

His voice had a slight tremble, his eyes a glassiness I recognized as a prelude to tears. If he'd inherited anything from me at all, it had to be doubt. For the most part he kept it hidden beneath his naturally easy smile and impish ways, but now he was sullen and serious.

I hated to see him like this, hated the reminder of my own youth, even if it was only a glimpse.

"No, Alex," I answered with a sigh. "You had nothing to do with her answer. It was because of me."

He blinked, wanting more but unwilling to ask for answers. Perhaps he didn't really want to know. Perhaps he realized it didn't make a difference because she was gone.

But I still wanted to know what surfaced this side of him. "You haven't become nervous, have you?"

He blew a raspberry, and at once the melancholy youth disappeared and the child who had stomped up the stairs appeared before my eyes. He gave a toothy, appreciative grin, one sweetened by mischief. "What reason do I have to be nervous? I'm not the one chained to an eternity to one woman."

"Chained?" I coughed to keep from laughing and pictured a group of boys with cigars between their lips, speaking of wives back home. Chained, indeed.

"That's what Monsieur Leach said. He said it's best if a fellow—especially one as dashing as me—doesn't become tied down to one women."

It intrigued me far too much to merely nod. "What does he suggest?"

"He suggested something with hair."

My brow furrowed. "Excuse me?"

"He said I would be better off with a hair…something. Heiress? Heirdome?"

"A harem?"

"Yes! He said I would be better off with a harem, but I don't know anything about hair. Even Grand-mere said I need to brush mine more often."

"Then I suggest you stay far away from harems," I replied.

"I shall." He nodded quite proudly, then instantly frowned. "But you don't need a harem, do you, Father? You will marry Madame Seuratti, won't you?"

If your questions don't kill me first, I thought. "Yes, I will."

"Are you…sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. She already agreed, quite happily, actually. Though I do believe the ring played an important part in her answer."

He smiled then. "Good. I was worried she might change her mind."

"I believe she has put far too much effort into tomorrow's proceedings to change her mind," I answered.

"Lisette said it makes her mother happy to do everything. She doesn't like it when others are in her way."

"You shouldn't repeat everything Lisette—or anyone else for that matter—says. It's a bad habit."

"Yes." He shrugged as though he wasn't really listening. "Did you know Aunt Meg doesn't want me to leave home?"

I smiled. "I've heard as much."

"Are we moving far away, Father?"

I explained to him that we would be staying in our home and that his aunt, uncle, grandmother, and new niece or nephew would move into Julia and Lisette's old house, which seemed to please him. There was no set date to move furniture and wardrobes, but I assumed it would be after our honeymoon. Perhaps for a short while we would remain in Julia's home while Meg recovered from the trials of motherhood.

"I'm glad we're not moving into Lissy's house," he said.

"Fond of your own room?"

"Well, yes, but Lissy said her room creates nightmares, and I don't want Lissy to have nightmares. If she's to be my sister, then as her brother I must protect her, and I can't protect her in her nightmares, can I?"

He left me speechless, first as I thought of the reasons behind her nightmares and secondly at home much he cared for Lisette. With a nod I motioned him closer and told him to sit. I enjoyed these seemingly rare moments with him far too much to end our conversation.

"How is the music coming along?"

"I'll practice tonight in front of Aunt Meg and Uncle Charles. Grand-mere says babies like the sound of music even before they are born, but I don't think Grand-mere ever had a baby, did she? She only has Aunt Meg."

Sometimes he perplexed me so much that I didn't know what to say. "At one time Meg was a child, you do realize that, don't you?"

He looked at me quizzically. "Of course, but Grand-mere said she found her and took her home one day."

"She told you she found Meg on the streets?"

"Yes. She said that's where many babies come from."

Apparently that was Madeline's version of reproduction. Some time later I would have Charles clear up any misconceptions, but for the moment I only nodded. "I don't believe I've ever heard that story before, Alex."

"Did I like music when I was a baby?"

"You loved it," I answered.

He smiled. "I thought so."

"It made you stop crying."

His eyes grew wide. "Why was I crying?"

"Because you were an infant and babies often cry for food, soiled diapers…when the musician must pause and turn the page."

"Ah, I understand. But now I'm a man."

Now that was a frightening idea, one that followed lessons on birds and bees and even harems. "Now you're a young man," I corrected, but I didn't much care for the sound of that either.

Alex's spine straightened and he puffed out his chest. "Your best man. Isn't that right, Father?"

I ruffled his hair. "Indeed."


	51. Man to Man

Details regarding where the happy couple are "registered" are coming soon! Stay tuned.

OW51

While Alex ran an errand for Madeline, I walked into the library and found Charles hunched over the table with a fountain pen held inches above a stark white sheet of paper. Meg was asleep in the chair across from him, her mouth wide open and round face flushed. Even in sleep she looked terribly uncomfortable and I was almost certain she would start her labor tomorrow afternoon, at the most inopportune moment.

Charles gave a warm smile and shrugged as though he didn't know what to do. I wondered if he was under strict orders from his wife to remain absolutely silent while she rested. If that was indeed the case then the poor fool needed rescuing. I motioned toward the doorway and his eyebrows rose. He pointed at his blank sheet of paper and frowned. Inhaling, I gestured for him to pick it up and take it with him and he nodded vigorously. With our plan set, I wheeled him out of the room. The damned chair squeaked and groaned all the way around the study table and over the woolen rug. Together we winced, but Meg was not only asleep but apparently deaf also, as she never so much as stirred.

"Oh, thank God," Charles muttered. He glanced over his shoulder and smiled. "I've been in there for over an hour with her sound asleep. Madame Giry never once peeked inside, a rarity for her, and I have no idea where Mademoiselle Ruby is at this afternoon.

"What are you writing?"

"Writing? Oh, nothing, Monsieur. I'm merely thinking about writing. There is a distinct difference."

I delivered him into the parlor where the sun had warmed the room and illuminated dust motes wheeling through the air.

"What were you thinking about writing?" I questioned.

"The next great piece of French Literature," he answered with a chuckle. "My apologies, Monsieur, but I never discuss a work in progress, even if it hasn't yet hatched from my thoughts."

"Fair enough." I took a seat opposite him and stretched out my legs. My right knee ached and I grimaced, wondering what I'd done to it. In my youth I'd fallen from a horse, but that old injury hadn't bothered me in many years. Perhaps it had returned for a spell.

"Are you nervous?" Charles asked with his usual jovial tone.

"No, I'm not nervous," I snapped. "There is no reason to be nervous."

"Excellent, Monsieur. Most excellent."

I couldn't stop myself from asking, "Were you nervous?"

"I feared I'd vomit on her when we said our vows." He chuckled even louder than before. "The answer would be no, Monsieur, I wasn't nervous at all."

"What is it about marriage that everyone insists the prospective bride and groom should be nervous the day of or before?"

"Oh…perhaps it's the commitment involved, the time, money, all of one's friends and family, vows signifying endless love and support…a public declaration of unity…those sorts of things, Monsieur."

"Unjustified fears."

"Spoken like a rational man."

My internal voice balked that it was spoken like a man who'd never stood on the threshold of marriage. "Or a bachelor," I mumbled.

Charles gave a heavy sigh. "It is overwhelming when one sees himself as a confirmed bachelor and then…then one day there is a woman who wishes to share her life with him."

"Of whom are you speaking, Monsieur Lowry?"

"Myself, of course."

My eyes narrowed. "Yourself? I thought you wanted to marry Meg."

He seemed almost embarrassed. "I did. I just didn't think she would still want to marry me when I, well, was discharged from my services to my country. That is to say, when I was wheeled out of the hospital and explained to her my new circumstances and…uselessness…as her husband."

I paused and tried not to stare at him, at his thin, frail legs, and his strong, broad hands which clutched the arms of his chair. Such extremes from infirm to good health. We were similar, Charles and I, both of us judged depending upon which half of us was viewed.

"You appear useful enough," I said gruffly.

He grunted and smiled. "Thank you, Monsieur." He placed the paper and his pen on the desk and stretched his neck from side to side. "I suppose I've proven myself at last."

"Has someone questioned you?" I asked angrily, protective of my son's tutor and uncle.

He offered a wan smile but didn't answer. "Just think, once you've married Madame Seurratti, everyone will be waiting for you to prove your usefulness in the realm of…stork delivery, shall we say?"

I turned my head to the side and feigned a cough to mask my utter surprise. "Truthfully, Monsieur Lowry, all this talk of begetting infants isn't at all what I meant."

Now it was his turn to hide his embarrassment. "Oh."

"Indeed."

His olive skin took on a slightly crimson shade, yet still he appeared collected and professional. "I'm afraid all of this talk of babies has my mind far away from the usual conversations of decent people. For that I offer my apologies."

"Perhaps not decent people, but scholarly ones, yes. I don't imagine you've had this conversation with many of your colleagues."

He chuckled again. "You'd be surprised what a few old friends discuss when wine is poured and the door is closed. When Madame Kire allows you out of her sight, you should sit with us one evening. I have been looking for another person of sharp wit and intelligence to tell Monsieur Kite he's full of so much hot air that I'm surprised he hasn't floated all the way to Belgium."

"That sounds inviting, Charles," I said dryly.

"So it does." He laughed. "Or it could be a bit of exposure to Monsieur Leach has finally maddened me. A strange fellow, that one. Harmless, I dare say, but eccentric. I swear to you, Monsieur, that man has more ideas than I've ever seen, and with the way he presents himself, he should have been an actor, not a businessman."

"Don't give him more ideas."

"I believe he'll realize it on his own. Can't you just see it, Monsieur? Archie Leach takes the world of theater by storm."

"I'm not sure the world of theater is ready for him or his sister."

"Very true."

He glanced from me to the blank sheet of paper. "Well, Monsieur, I should at least start on my work. I don't want to distract you while you're preparing for tomorrow."

I crossed my arms. "If there is anything else to prepare, I haven't been asked to participate."

"That reminds me of when Meg and I were courting and she would ask me to take down a canning jar from the cabinet. She'd coo and bat her eyelashes as though I'd done the most remarkable feat imaginable. You needn't worry if you're feeling left out of the planning and arrangements. Weddings are for women."

And wedding nights, I thought with a smile at the corners of my mouth, was for the husband, almost as a reward for tolerating flowers and frilly dresses and all of the best silverware laid out for guests. It would be a reward for the bride as well. Charles smiled at me but didn't say a word. I had a feeling we were both thinking the same thing.

"Nervous yet?" he asked slyly.

"Never."

"I find your ability to withstand the most extreme account of feminine torture extraordinary, Monsieur," he said with a chuckle.

My sweating palms left marks on the desk surface as I stood and prepared to leave the room. "That, Monsieur, is pure nonsense."

"What is? That it's torture or that you're not nervous?"

He had me. I rolled my tongue along the inside of my cheek. "Good day, Charles."

"Good day, Monsieur Kire. Do try to keep your mind occupied."

"I will. With your wage increases for next year." I glanced over my shoulder and found him smiling.

"If I didn't know your sense of humor, Monsieur, I'd be worried."


	52. A Terrified Man

OW52

The kitchen sounded abnormally quiet but smelled of sugary confections, and as I walked down the hall I had full intentions of finding myself a stray cookie or a sweet left out to cool.

I did not, however, expect to find Ruby standing near the window, twirling a dishtowel in her hand. She appeared caught in a blissful daydream which I only disturbed as I stepped onto a loose floorboard.

"Oh, Monsieur, I'm terribly sorry," she mumbled.

"Terribly sorry for what?" I muttered in return.

She was no longer affected by my gruff tone—that is to say, if she was every affected by it in the first place, and smiled. "I was just thinking about wedding cookies."

She certainly knew how to talk to a man and keep his attention. I lifted my chin and looked her over. "What kind of wedding cookies?"

"I make them in the shape of little leaves and then sprinkle them with powdered sugar. Sometimes I add crushed almonds."

"Interesting." I swallowed, afraid I would begin to salivate at the mere thought of cookies dusted in fine powdered sugar with roasted almonds rolled into the soft, moist dough displayed on white lace napkins. A tall glass of milk on the side would complement such a delicacy. "Where are they?" I inquired.

Again she gave an easy smile and clasped her hands. "Oh, Monsieur, I didn't make them. I was thinking about making them for tomorrow, but I don't know what the future Madame Kire has planned for her menu."

"I doubt your wedding cookies will be in conflict with whatever Julia has planned."

"I didn't say there would be a conflict. I merely wasn't sure if she'd want them."

"Well, why wouldn't she want them?" I snapped.

I'd flustered her, but she refused to curtsy and agree with me. "I don't know. Perhaps she's planned something more elegant."

What in the world could be more elegant than wedding cookies, I wondered. "I doubt it," I glowered.

She chuckled softly. "Well, since you're in my kitchen I suppose you're hungry. Why don't you have a seat in the dining room and I'll fix you a snack before supper?"

"How long does it take to make these wedding cookies?" I questioned, unwilling to give up my hopes of licking powdered sugar from my fingertips. I could live the rest of my life, however miserably, without chocolate and without honey, but powdered sugar belonged in my blood.

"A snack, Monsieur, not dessert."

My nostrils flared. "What I want is—"

"No, no, Monsieur, I'm under very strict orders from Madame Giry that you are to eat something light but sensible."

"Were those her exact words?"

She nodded.

"Where is Madeline?"

Ruby blinked. "In…the other…room."

"Which other room?"

"Her room."

She was lying to keep Madeline content and cookies far from my grasp.

"No, she isn't. I was down the hall only a moment ago and I didn't hear a sound from her room to indicate she was there."

"Perhaps she decided to lie down for a while," Ruby suggested.

I could have very well argued with her until she finally made the damned cookies but I'd lost my patience and consequently my taste for sweets. Later on I would question Madeline as to why, in my own home, I was forbidden from eating cookies. At last I resigned myself to an afternoon void of wedding cookies and sighed. "What do we have to eat?"

"Whatever you want." She paused and smiled again. "Within reason, of course."

"Of course," I echoed miserably.

"How about honey glazed ham on bread?"

"Fine, fine," I said dismissively. It didn't matter what she made now. I'd all but given up on ever having my own way again.

"Now, since that's all settled, what would you like for your last supper here?" she asked with a smile.

"My last supper, Mademoiselle?"

Her eyes widened. "Well, not in _that _way."

"No? But it sounds appropriate, doesn't it?"

Her only answer was another chuckle.

-o-

Julia found my retelling of The Ruby Confrontation quite amusing. I leaned against the kitchen counter while she folded dough, which she said was for supper. When I asked her why she was baking bread when her cousin owned a bakery and she said it calmed her nerves.

"You shouldn't harass poor Ruby," Julia scolded. Her hair hung in a loose bun with strands framing her face. "You know how Madame Giry just adores her."

I snorted and looked away. From the corner of my eye I watched her work, saw the strain on her face as she pressed her fingers into the dough. Her shoulders hunched, and she lifted onto her toes in a rocking motion that swept her skirt back and forth. With each movement I thought less and less of cookies or even bread. Every move echoed sensuality, and I'd never wanted her more.

"I do hope Madame finds another cook and housekeeper once Ruby marries Archie," Julia said over her shoulder.

The mention of Leach threatened to unravel my swiftly building fantasy, but I refused to let anything or anyone stand in the way of my hot blooded ways. If she wouldn't let me have her the day before our wedding, I'd certainly think about every way in which I would touch and kiss her.

"With Meg and the baby and Madame's bad knee, they need someone always there to assist with chores. It shouldn't be expected of a new mother to care for her child, her mother and…well, her family, I should say."

I wanted to stand behind her and feel the muscles in her shoulder and back move beneath her blouse. I'd have brushed the strands of hair away from the back of her neck and kissed her behind the ear. I could easily imagine her struggling to remain in her kitchen, hard at work for supper. She did, of course, know that I would work with equal diligence to send her upstairs.

Or perhaps I wouldn't. Another fantasy invaded my thoughts with eagerness, and I saw us tangled together, our bodies engulfed in a cloud of flour hastily set aside. No, I told myself, far too messy. I liked the idea of whisking her away and locking her bedroom door much better.

"Poor Meg just looks simply miserable. I remember exactly how she felt."

It wouldn't be her bedroom, it would be _our_ bedroom. My body tensed. She'd most likely sew new curtains and change the coverlet. There would be two pillows instead of one. And no dog. Or cat. She'd have her womanly items strewn across the dresser in little jars and decorative dishes. Jewelry boxes, a jar of perfumed oil to rub on her elbows and knees…all of these items and more would be in what was once my room, my private sanctuary from the world.

Now I would have nothing. My space belonged to Julia because she would be my wife in my home. It wasn't my home any longer. For God's sake, had it ever been my home? I wasn't allowed cookies in it per Madeline's orders and now…now I would be governed by Julia.

"Erik?" Julia stared at me, the dough behind her on the counter covered in a towel. "Erik, are you listening?"

A shiver ran down my spine. I couldn't remember when last I was in control of myself and that frightened me. I needed control, craved it even. What was I if not in possession of my wits, my future…my life? I was reduced to a title I'd thought pleasant and meaningful, but now I saw it was more like "leash" and "tether". I would merely be a husband.

"Erik?" Her voice was now musical and soothing. She'd abandoned her place in the kitchen and walked to me as I stood frozen in the doorway. What a quagmire it had become. Gently she placed her hand on my forehead. "What on earth are you doing? Are you ill?"

"No," I replied hastily. Not yet, at least. Perhaps in an hour or two it would crash upon me full force, this dreadful feeling of being chained and buried.

"Then what is it? You're never this quiet."

"I can be as silent as I wish," I said assertively.

Her eyebrows lifted, and for several heartbeats she stared at me. "What is…" Slowly her lips curled into a warm, slightly amused smile. "You're nervous."

I didn't respond immediately, which naturally incriminated me. With a hard sigh, I shook my head. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Ridiculous?" Her smile widened, which irritated me.

"I'm not nervous. There is no reason for me to feel nervous." Terrified, completely and utterly terrified. Damn the people around me and their incessant need to badger me over what I felt and what I should feel.

"You don't need to be defensive about it, Erik. It's only natural."

"Then consider me unnaturally at ease."

She laughed. "I think it's very charming and, I might add, unexpected from you. I expected you to be pacing through the backyard in a three foot deep rut," she gently teased. "I must say, I do have my doubts."

"I'm not nervous," I said tersely.

"Then I apologize for my mistake and I won't mention it again," she said. She turned and peeked under the towel to check on her bread. I still had a feeling she was patronizing me, but I didn't feel the need to argue. Deep down inside I was still terrified, but not of a wedding or vows. I wondered if I would fail her in my ability to be a husband.

"Are you staying for supper? I'm certain I've asked you already and I'm also certain you've answered, but my mind is running in two dozen different directions." She patted the towel lightly. "This won't be done baking for another hour and I needed to run down the street for some fresh peaches."

"No, I'm not staying." I rubbed my palms together. "Ruby is cooking my last supper."

Julia almost snorted with laughter. "Oh, that Ruby. She's very witty."

"Very," I said under my breath.

Something swiftly came over me. I needed to get away from everyone…one last time. Without another word, I returned home to retrieve my hat.


	53. Fragrance of Roses

NDBRs, I made some changes to the previewed section.

OW53

It would be cliché to say I walked forever, but it certainly felt as though I'd walked for hours. In truth, it couldn't have been more than forty-five minutes, but my brisk pace and long legs made for good time through the darkening Paris streets.

The night air felt thick against my flesh. A shirt, waistcoat, cravat, overcoat, and gloves were far too many pieces of clothing for such a muggy night, but I savored the misery. At the least, it kept my mind from the ridiculous thoughts that had sent me on an aimless journey.

"This is careless," I muttered under my breath. "Foolhardy. I love her. I know I love her…"

I did know I loved her, but still I was skeptical of her love for me. With each step I racked my brain for a reason as to why she was still in my life. Pity, a last resort, no other direction to turn… No woman had ever loved me. Not my own mother, not Christine. I refused to look up as we passed store windows, afraid I'd catch a glimpse of my reflection and the concrete reason to spend eternity alone.

"I love her," I muttered again, and I hoped it would settle my mind.

Over and over, both in my thoughts and aloud, I repeated this mantra, this profession of affection for Julia. I only wanted her; not because she was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen or a pristine, flawless angel who bent to my words and commands, but because she was Julia. Some would say she was too tall, her nose a little too thin. To me, she was flawless because she wasn't an angel. She was the woman who looked me in the eye when she spoke, the woman who refused to give into my demands or to cower before me—as she had done with her husband.

I didn't frighten her as he had done. This thought warmed me inside, but I refused to glance back at the carriages and people heading up and down the streets. I feared I'd see something that would change our lives, and I couldn't risk it. What exactly I expected I didn't know. Perhaps an alleyway that would remind me of the night that had finally changed everything, perhaps a group of sailors who would remind me of her dead husband, perhaps a carriage similar to the one I'd seen bearing her uncle, Luc Testan.

Once again frustration filled me. Like an injury, I'd walk off this doubt only to find that irrational fear had been planted into my mind by Madeline, Charles, and even Ruby. This was completely their fault. I should have been at home, casually reading the daily newspaper while I listened to Alex tell his stories to Madeline and Meg.

"Damn all of them," I grumbled. My only true companion stayed loyally at my side, where she always seemed to be. "They don't know anything, most certainly not about me."

It surprised me that Bessie had managed to keep pace. She trotted boldly beside me, her jowls swaying, tail wagging back and forth as she trotted beside me. Normally we needed to stop as she investigated every blade of grass, no matter how many times we'd traveled around the city streets.

At first I was certain that she sensed my urgency and had decided that, as my canine companion, it was her duty to obey my command and soothe my unsteady nerves. But then, about halfway down the street, I noticed the smell of coffee and butter wafting through the air and realized we were approaching a café and the opportunity for bread crumbs and discarded food.

"You dreadful little traitor," I said under my breath. "Haven't you an ounce of shame, you furry little beast?"

Bessie, of course, ignored me and trudged forward with her nose glued to the ground. I confused her by switching her leash from one hand to the other and managed to pull her across the street, safe from laughing patrons and stray bread rolls. Still, she seemed undaunted, and as I gazed around at our location, my heart skipped a beat. I knew exactly where we stood, despite the darkened streets and the murmur of a distant crowd.

"I do hope you're not running away before tomorrow," a voice said as its owner came up beside me. There was humor in his voice, which stopped me from taking offense.

At once I stiffened and tightened my fist around the leash to prevent Bessie from abandoning me all together. She didn't have time to consider the idea, however, because the man bent and gave her a pat on the head, which sent her tail into such a feverish wag that I half-expected it to fall off in her mirth.

"Bessie, isn't it?" he inquired.

"Yes," I said, quite stiffly. "Cousin," I added, in order to seem more cordial.

Our eyes met and he smiled at me, one of many instances where he reminded me of his father.

"But you didn't answer my first question, Erik," his tone remained gentle and humorous. "I'd hate to give your distressed bride the news that I was the last person to see you in Paris."

"Merely out for a walk," I answered. "Dogs require a great deal of walking."

"So they do." He stood a little straighter, his lips curling up in a warm smile. He looked me over in a casual, accepting manner—the way in which his father had always greeted me in the morning when we prepared to start our day together. "How far are you walking? These bones could use a bit of work…that is, if you would care for the company."

I was taken aback by his offer to accompany me and I nodded readily, in the same manner I would have welcomed his father's stories or even his silent presence. But this was not my uncle, this was my cousin. The reminder came somber and unwanted, but still I refused to make him what he was not.

"Jitters?" Joshua questioned.

"No," I lied.

"Good." He smiled again as we started to walk down the street, away from the crowd. Slowly the landscape changed into a quiet neighborhood of neatly kept townhouses gently lit by the street lamps. A dog barked from its chain outside a front porch, and a woman in a shawl rushed to bring her protector inside for the night.

"Nice evening," Joshua commented. "It should be a perfect day tomorrow."

"Yes," I said.

He chuckled softly. "I must say, you are the most tight-lipped of anyone in our family. My daughter could talk from the dawn until dusk without taking a breath, and my brother has a tendency to ramble. Who does your son take after?"

"I think he's taking more after his future stepsister than anyone else these days."

He gave me a quizzical look.

"She is months older than he and has decided she is ten years wiser."

Our pace slowed, and he frowned. "I cannot imagine anything more difficult in life than raising a daughter," he said earnestly.

"She's almost raised already by her mother."

His laugh emerged deep and hearty. "How old is she?"

"Almost ten."

"Then you are mistaken, Monsieur. The real raising won't start for another two or three years, and then you'll find that she will no longer wish to instruct Alexandre. She'll be far too occupied with alterations in mood that will leave you completely speechless." He paused and stared straight ahead. "Of course, if this bit of news doesn't send you running, nothing will."

I didn't reply. My only concern was tomorrow, not two or three years from now. Perhaps, I thought in a moment of complete desperation, she'd stay nine years old for the rest of her life and I wouldn't have to think of the unpleasantries he hinted at. She'd never, ever find boys of any interest—unless of course it was to issue black eyes, and with Alex nearby, no young man would ever approach her. There, I thought with renewed hope, the perfect scenario of a daughter who remained a child.

Panic threatened to double me over. She'd grow up, Alex would grow up…the child or children Julia and I could have together would also grow up. I hadn't considered any of this because there hadn't been time. Who would have thought that a lifetime spent desiring a wife would lead to the eve of a dream, which now stood on the edge of ruin?

My pace had slowed and my cousin stared at me, a hint of worry in his gaze. "Judging by her mother, I'm sure she'll be just fine," he assured me. "I don't think her mother is the type who will tolerate insolence from any source."

This made me smile. "You are perceptive."

He gave a single nod. "It was more my daughter's perception than my own. She is quite fond of both Madame Seuratti and the little mademoiselle."

"Will she attend our wedding tomorrow?"

"With Anthony, I'm sure." He seemed to bristle slightly. "And I'm sure she'll do her best to keep him in line."

"In line?"

"He's still a bit high-strung. In fact, I've been so concerned that he'd worry himself into anemia that I decided to walk to his house and see how he fared. All of this talk of weddings has him concerned."

"There is nothing for him to worry about," I snapped, my mood lurching toward furious. "She's made her choice."

Joshua studied me a moment. "I meant his own wedding."

"He's getting…married?" I stammered.

Joshua sighed. "Not quite yet, but I believe tomorrow might inspire him to loosen his tight fist and purchase a ring for a young woman who thinks it's time for him to be an honest man. He will, of course, have to ask for my permission." He grinned, humor mixed with undisguised disapproval. "And he'll be damned lucky if I've had enough wine to agree."

Church bells rang much closer than I had expected. I gazed up at a towering cathedral, its stained glass windows dark, the premises appearing abandoned.

"Did you read the letters?" he asked without looking at me.

"All of them," I answered. My words were barely a whisper. "Julia read them as well. I wanted her to know him…his importance to me. I…I…I should thank you for them."

"That's unnecessary, Erik, they were always meant for you."

"But you held them all these years."

"Yes, yes I did. I always had a feeling you'd come for them. It was only a matter of finding you through a wedding announcement, an opera…somehow I knew you'd emerge once more and I would hand them to you." It struck me that he could have sent them through post, and with a nod he looked at me and seemed to read my thoughts. "I always wanted to meet you face-to-face and give them to you. I don't quite trust the post. For all I know, they'd decide to send them up in balloons, like they did during the siege."

"How long have you known?" I asked.

"I beg your pardon?"

"That I…lived in Paris," I said in a low voice.

"I'd assumed you had traveled here as my father wished, but of course I realized your tender age and didn't expect you to arrive for many weeks after the letters stopped. It was years later, when I started to see your name in the newspapers, that I knew for certain you'd made it," he said, but he didn't elaborate.

I didn't want to ask him what he knew about the opera house disaster, especially on the eve of my wedding. We stood side by side in silence as I gazed up at the night's sky and thought about how I'd climbed up five flights of stairs and burst through a smoke-filled hall. I didn't remember the burn of fire in the back of my throat or the strangling, tear-inducing smoke that clogged my lungs. All I remembered was the way the sky looked, the pure blackness marred by thick billows of smoke. In my quest to be known, there was no denying I'd be famous that night, that terrible night—the worst evening I'd ever experienced.

He had to have read the outrageous news of a mad man who'd slaughtered thousands upon thousands, who'd thrown infants off balconies and tossed young women into the growing flames like sacrifices to the devil. I wondered if he'd heard of the opera and what a disaster it had become. In one, damnable night I'd outraged an entire city. Most assuredly that was how he'd learned of my existence.

It was better that this remained an unspoken mystery.

"Follow me," Joshua said. He gently caressed an iron gate, which we followed around to a corner. Shrubbery poked through the fence posts and brushed against the back of my hand. I smelled the fragrance of roses now, rather than food, the floral scents much lighter on the breathy wind.

"Where?" I questioned.

"There isn't a body here, but there is a grave for my father." He no longer smiled or frowned. His face bore no expression, which I eyed curiously as he pulled open the rusty gate and motioned me to enter first. "It's very easy to find, day or night…so long as it is summer."

"A monument?" I asked, though that didn't make much sense. My heart pounded at the mixed images of his body buried beneath an uneven pile of dirt and small, worthless rocks. There'd been no marker of his name, no "Father of, Uncle of, etc" to give any indication that he was an important man and not a beloved dog. The dog, as I recall, wasn't buried too far from him.

"No monument," he replied. He still smiled somewhat bravely, the warmth in his eyes focused on me. "Merely the scent of roses."


	54. The Last Harbor for Grief

OW54

We walked in silence down the winding cemetery path, both of us cloaked in darkness. I paid no mind to the statues and tombs as we made our way through the black night. I hoped that when I saw the headstone I would know it belonged to him. My heart grew unbearably heavy as memories accompanied each footstep.

I thought of how he'd found me, a filthy, starving brat who deserved no one's attention. I recalled how he'd rescued me from castration and certain death by the seaside, how he'd harbored me in his home and allowed me his son's room. It was the first, it was the only sanctuary I'd had for many, many long years. He'd given me hope, and for most of my life it was all I had to call my own.

Every memory worth keeping came from him, at least in those early years. He'd accepted a sniveling, frightened child with half a face and not an ounce of self worth. In his shadow I had thrived, grown until I'd attached myself to him.

And then he was gone, I reminded myself. And then there had been no one. It saddened more than angered me. I wanted to hear him whistle one last time, but the only sound I heard came from our breathing and the barking of dogs in the distance.

We found the modest, moss-covered stone in darkness made deeper by a towering, garish mausoleum. I wanted to smash the overshadowing structure, the terrible design that blocked even the moonlight from my uncle's grave.

"It's not much," Joshua said, his voice hinting at his embarrassment. "I was young and with a wife and child. Of course, Father left no money—not that I'm complaining, mind you, but I mean to say it was all I could afford for him."

"No," I said weakly, my voice tight. "A mausoleum—"

"Is too much for him."

I nodded in agreement, the words strangled as they left my throat. How many years had I known of his death? For God's sake, I had seen him die! This final tribute should not have shocked me and yet I could scarcely believe he was gone. It felt like discovering a nightmare had come true. Nothing would return him to me. His bones belonged to the earth, turned to dirt or dust long ago.

Panic gripped me and I wanted to turn from the rock with his name carved into it…the name I had given my son the moment I laid eyes on him. I needed to look away from the headstone. Perhaps then it wouldn't be true and I'd find him on the other side of the gate, with his cane in hand and his hat tipped low over his eyes.

"Shall I leave you alone a moment?" Joshua asked.

Afraid to answer, I nodded and glanced at him from the corner of my eye, half hoping he wouldn't be gone long.

"I'll not rush you," he promised. "An old man like me has all night."

I didn't watch him leave. Instead, I stepped forward and pressed my palm to the stone. Cool, hard rock gave no indication of his presence. I longed for his ghost to stand beside me and tell me I could marry Julia and be a good husband to her. That a year of ignoring Alex for the sake of chasing a dream could be repaired in the future, that all those years of living in a cellar, of beatings and terror—of hurting and then hurting others, could be put behind me.

"I don't think I'm worth it," I said to the grave. "Not now, not ever. It terrifies me to think of what I have in my life, how much I've been allowed which I shouldn't have ever taken." I swallowed back pain and the urge to sob. "I have a woman who has accepted my offer of marriage, I have a son born out of a terrible mistake and yet I don't know what I would do if I didn't have him."

Pain forced me to stand quietly, my body slumped and worthless. "Why did you see differently? What made you courageous and me a coward?"

My head bent forward, I sank ever downward, and rested against the smooth stone. Tears fell freely as I waited, waited for his reply, waited for some epiphany to strike sense into me.

"You saved my life, Uncle Alek, and I took yours. I should never have allowed you to leave your home. I killed you, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't walk faster like you asked, didn't board the train and sell that damned donkey. The dog? I don't know about the dog."

Bessie nudged my shin and I sank to my knees. "Not you," I said to her. She licked my hand before I could push her away, and with her soft gesture I lost control of myself. Knees dampened by the moist ground, I draped my arms over the stone, groped the cold surface for a sense of long-lost worth, a pulse of the life I had taken.

"We shouldn't have left," I sobbed, my voice muffled against my sleeve. Bessie rubbed her head against my leg, demanding my attention, but I ignored her. "You shouldn't have suggested it, damn you. Damn you," I cursed him. "You sick, ignorant old man. You wasted yourself away to nothing. And for what? For what? To leave me there…there," I finished weakly, pathetic and ashamed. "You damned, damned old fool. I loved you."

Battered by emotion, I sat on the ground and felt bone-weary exhaustion overcome me. Silently I apologized for my curses and felt my anger slowly return. I couldn't help but be angry with him for his decisions. As much as he'd attempted to include me, he should have known, being a grown man, that a child of my age could not determine our path or be allowed any say at all.

"You fool," I said again. "You damned, damned fool. You should never have…never."

Bessie whined, and at last I gave in and scratched her beneath the ears. She curled up beside me and sighed, prepared to stay the night at my side if I commanded her loyalty.

Footsteps shuffled up behind me, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood straight up. The breath in my throat caught and threatened to strangle me. I swore it was him, returned from the grave, a great and terrible phantom—A true phantom come to spite me.

"Erik."

The voice was deep and familiar. And very much that of a living man. I closed my eyes, refused to show my miserable face to him.

"It's been over an hour," Joshua announced. "Would you like more time?"

I shook my head, fearing my voice would give away my incessant blubbering. When I finally stood and faced him he appeared worried.

"You're angry," he observed.

"Yes," I said, unable to lie. I clenched and released my fists in sheer frustration. "Yes, I am."

He looked me over, his eyes filled with sadness but not grief. "Perhaps this wasn't the right time."

"There will never be a right time," I said. Emotion forced me to swallow. I'd be damned if I allowed myself to cry over him now, decades after I'd buried him.

"I fear you miss him more deeply than I do," he said softly.

"He was a father. The only one I…" My words broke off abruptly, the trembling in my hands turning unbearable. I brought my hand to my face and pressed my knuckles hard to my forehead as though a bit of pain would snap the tears from my eyes and immediately unclog my painfully restricted throat.

It did no such thing. Silently I shook, my lips quivering as they had that day as I sat beside him, until I knew it would only be worse if I didn't bury him. One hand to my face became two and I'd lost myself to the need to sob in the darkness, to the past I regretted with fierce hatred.

Joshua kept his distance for only a moment before he placed his hand high on my back. "You brought him a sense of purpose he didn't have for many, many years," he said, his voice low and calm. "He would have died without ever meeting you."

"He died shortly after he met me."

"Your perception of short differs greatly from mine. The last letter I received from him was almost a year previous to when you set out. I thought it would be the last time I heard from him. For years he'd adamantly refused to stay with me, despite my numerous offers. I worried for him, but I lived and worked here and I couldn't leave my life to retrieve him. Cold as it sounds, he made his decision and I made mine."

I couldn't look at him. I didn't have a word to say to him or a gesture to make. Instead I listened and waited.

"Imagine my surprise when I discovered he hadn't died. He was alive, and he had more strength than he'd shown in years—at least in his letters. He sounded young again, and hopeful. Every letter before that was from a man who expected he'd seal the envelope, then draw his last breath. How many more did you give him?"

"Not enough," I answered, heaving a breath.

Our eyes met. "Enough to do what he wanted," Joshua answered. "He expressed the desire to remove you from your parents' home and take you far enough away to where you couldn't run back to them once he was dead. That was all he wanted. He did exactly what he set out to do. Perhaps not the best-laid plans, but it was all he could do. Even if it was only for several months he felt worthy and rejuvenated, a man with purpose. You gave that to him, Cousin. You didn't take anything away from him, most certainly not his life."

"I should have walked faster."

"Don't," Joshua said firmly. "He was dying and he knew it. You cannot blame yourself for his health."

"But I want to," I blurted out. Almost instantly I sucked in a breath as though I could withdraw my words.

He looked at me curiously, unable to decipher the meaning in my statement, the hatred I had for what I'd always been. I wasn't worth saving, and I should have died in his place. It didn't matter if he was sick. It didn't matter that I had always enjoyed good health. I did not deserve what he'd given me. Selfish, always selfish; worthless, always worthless.

Joshua sighed. His hand grasped my shoulder in the manner of his father. The wind hissed through the trees above and I felt darkness ebb as moonlight filtered through the trees. A sense of purpose, a chance at renewed life. It would be some time before I could allow myself to believe I'd given him anything at all.

"He wouldn't want you to blame yourself," Joshua said plainly. "But that, of course, is your choice, not his and not mine. I can only hope you'll look back and in time see that he was happy. It brought me peace to know his final moments were not spent standing over Mother's grave or thinking of the son he'd lost. He had far too much to share to tolerate being alone."

"I'm not yet ready," I answered.

"To forgive yourself?"

I hesitated but eventually shook my head, deciding I didn't want to admit this to him. Cousin or not, we were still more strangers than friends. Already I felt as though I'd trusted him more than I should have in my yearning to find what I'd missed.

We left the cemetery and said nothing more until we were about to part ways. Bessie wriggled all over when he rubbed her sides and gave her a pat on the head. It never took her long to completely put her trust into someone.

He looked me over again and frowned. With a sigh, he shook his head. "If it gives you any consolation at all know that I never blamed you for his death. And if you truly wish to blame someone for his death, for your suffering, then blame your father."

His words took me by complete surprise.


	55. A Long and Weary Night

This chapter is twice as long as most of them. Excuse me while I pass out!

OW55

I couldn't possibly think straight, not on the corner of the street, not with so much bearing down on me. Hell had opened up and promised to swallow me whole. For a moment, I thought it would be best to give in and just die.

Memories flooded back, one on top of another. I thought about the light and how it peered through the cellar door, how that single space allowed my mother's voice to reach me. I thought about the rats that ate my food before I managed to crawl toward it, my knees bruised, my body weak with lack of nourishment and severe abuse.

Abuse. That's all it was. Not punishment, not something I deserved, but abuse. As much as I realized it, I didn't want to admit it. No matter what, it still seemed more like an idea than an actual fact.

But there was more to think about than that awful cellar. I thought, with tears burning my eyes, of how I'd managed to escape all those times. I remembered being caught and how I didn't care if my father hit me. I recalled the night he had found me in the ocean, how he and his drunken friends had laughed at my state of arousal and the nakedness of my face and body. He'd wanted to kill me and I thought for certain that he would. Shame filled me and I shuddered, afraid to move, afraid to blink, afraid I'd discover myself as a child still.

"Come inside," Joshua offered gently when I made no attempt to return home. I doubted I would have found it in the state I was in. With Bessie leading the way we would have investigated every tree until the first light of dawn.

"You should sit," he said when I didn't answer him.

I didn't protest his offer, but I didn't remember moving either. Deep inside I fought the urge to trust him, to put my faith in him. My relationship with women varied greatly from my relationship with men. Men I rarely trusted. Women as well, but I had a surprising amount of females in my home and in my life. I didn't understand why he wanted to befriend me, even if we were family.

Somehow, I felt as though I'd hit an unimaginably low spot in my life. Distrusting, fearful…weak. I'd become nothing. Perhaps I'd always been nothing and now the proof had finally caught up to the lies I'd fed myself all those years.

A cup of tea was set beside me, and the sound of Bessie crunching on a biscuit roused me from my deep, dark recess into self-hatred. Joshua sat down across from me with a grimace.

"I remember him clearly," he stated. "He was not an easy man to forget."

"Perhaps," I said, unwilling to participate in the conversation. I didn't want to think or speak or even breathe. I wished only for the ability to disappear, a feat I hadn't attempted in many years.

"Do you remember him?" he asked casually.

I looked at him sharply, angered over his unabashed coaxing. "Do not provoke me," I said in a growl of warning. If he dared start this, I'd sure as hell finish it, family or not.

"Provoke who?" he asked, his voice issuing a challenge. "The opera ghost?"

I glared at him, my nostrils flared, my body rigid. "Don't—"

"Doesn't the dreaded opera ghost remember his loving father?"

My shame snapped into heavy, fiery rage. I stared at him, attempting to separate the living man from the one I'd buried. He didn't realize the danger in his comments, or perhaps the masculine need for authority encouraged him.

"I said—"

"Answer my question, Kire," he said. He sat with such casual demeanor that I hated him all the more. "Do you remember your beloved father?"

How dare he hide behind his own father's image. You damned coward, I wanted to say. But I couldn't. My hands shook, my throat dry as sand. I couldn't curse him, couldn't scream at him. I found myself deeply hurt by his taunts, my mind still unable to think of him as anything but my beloved uncle.

"I don't want to remember him," I answered meekly, ignorantly. I peered at him through a child's eyes, still trusting despite the horrors in my life.

"Why?" he asked, refusing me a moment to crawl into the corner of my mind and muster anger. "Why wouldn't you want to remember him?"

"You know why," I answered angrily.

"Do I?" he continued to taunt."

"You've already said it yourself."

"I do beg your pardon, but what did I say?"

For a brief moment I stared at him, my vision blurred with hatred and frustration. He ruined my perception of his father, threatened the memory of a caring, loving man.

"Enough." I stood abruptly and knocked the service cart on its side. Hot water, tea bags, milk, honey, and lemon slices clattered to the floor in a heap of broken dishes and flatware I had wanted to hurl across the room. "You don't know a damned thing."

"Then there is no reason for you to be angry. Please, sit," he said calmly. Bessie, who had crawled beneath his chair, bared her teeth at me. It was then that I realized perhaps I'd made a mistake, but not even that dim realization gave me pause. I continued my rage with great thoroughness.

"Why are you doing this? Asking these damned questions? Why in the hell are you doing this now?"

"Was he as kind to you as I always suspected?"

Anger faltered, and I wondered how much he knew of my childhood. Dread filled me, embarrassment seemingly drizzled atop a churning stew of loathing. He mocked me, the cruel bastard, he mocked me.

"Do you want to know the truth?" I boldly questioned, my demeanor arrogant. _Would you like me to share in my horrors, allow you to relive each moment with me?_ I wanted to ask? Stiff as a wooden plank, I sat down and stared at him, my gaze boring through his skull.

He didn't say a word as I fought to catch my breath. Calm and collected, he stirred his tea and waited for me to answer.

"How many times did you walk past the house and hear me in the cellar?" I asked, biting off my words. "How many times did you see me escape from there, eh? Lurking, always lurking, never allowed out before the shroud of darkness. Do you wonder why?"

He ignored the last question and rubbed his hands together. "We weren't allowed near your parents' house," he answered smoothly. Pity tinged his eyes, pinched his features. He swallowed but didn't speak, and a great burst of rage sent me to my feet.

"Don't you dare look at me with pity!" I yelled at him. "Don't you ever look at me and feel pity."

My words stiffened him, but not enough for my liking. I wanted him to know my strength and fear me. I wanted him to realize my power. But most of all, I wanted to confirm my power and convince myself that childhood memories could be shed and that my life could start where I wanted it to, not where it had at my birth.

"What makes you think I pity you?" he questioned, his words issuing another challenge. "A successful musician, a father…a husband?"

Fury held my tongue.

"I wouldn't waste my breath to pity you."

"You insulting—"

"I pity my baby brother," he answered, speaking over me. "I pity the crippled child with the useless spine, not the talented boy who grew to be a successful man with a family of his own."

Frustrated and confused, I could do nothing more than sit again, a halo of broken china and scattered flatware around the foot of my chair.

"Father pampered the baby," he said without a hint of jealousy. "Whereas many fathers would not have done more than necessary, he coddled the baby, afraid to let him out of his sight."

My heart lurched. I'd clung to Alex, not because of imperfection but because of his cherub face, his large eyes and bow-shaped lips. Afraid he'd grow once I left the room, I took to carrying him everywhere. In my mind I painted the perfect image of The Shadow cradling a scrawny infant in his arms, a newborn swaddled tightly in knitted blankets.

"The baby would coo when I spoke to him. I remember very distinctly that he couldn't walk, but he could speak in full, beautiful sentences. No one could believe he was so young, except for his size, of course."

Still I remained speechless, imagining the tall, straight-backed man beaming with pride for his child, despite the imperfections. My throat tightened and I clenched my fists as though it would help me regain swiftly lost composure.

"I remember when your father saw the baby, who must have been three by then, he laughed and asked why Father bothered tending to a child better off drowned in the sea. I don't remember my father's reaction at all, but I remember Little Alek, how appalled he looked, how absolutely shrunken he appeared in his carriage. He understood precisely what your father meant, and how cruel and hateful he was. It never left him. I don't think it left any of us."

Involuntarily I shuddered and offered a weak nod. The intimacy of his revelation rattled me to the very core, and I could hear my father's voice like a snake hissing in my mind. Terror crept up and I looked away, afraid to face him.

"When I sit down to write music, if I lose my place, my concentration, once in a while I find I write a word, a phrase he said to me long ago," I said quietly. Ashamed, I blinked several times. "I've—I've never…I shouldn't have said that."

"Why not?"

"Don't question me," I snapped.

He studied me, his face impassive. "Someone should question you," he replied. "Allow you to finally have peace."

"I've made my peace, I've—" Abruptly I stopped and swallowed, unable to say that I'd forgiven him. Forgiveness was impossible and I didn't know why.

"You have what?"

"I've learned to see past it."

He nodded solemnly. "By writing down what he once said to you?"

"Shut up," I seethed. "Shut up, you ignorant…" I couldn't finish. My tongue felt thick and black spots dotted my vision. The room grew unbearably hot and I thought I might faint dead in my chair. Memories stabbed at me, taunted me with every blink of my eyes. The cellar stairs, the rotting food, the contorted, gin blossomed face of pure hatred. I wanted to vomit as I thought of him spitting on me, of attempting to drown me. Pain coiled through my insides, and it was all because of his god-damned words.

"Say it," he replied, his tone just as callous and belligerent as mine.

"You don't know what it was like," I said tightly. "You had a father who treated you like a son. I lived beneath the house of a man who offered better food to the rats than to his only child," I blurted out. "I wasn't their son, I was an animal they shut away. No, I wasn't even an animal. I was nothing. Nothing. Absolutely nothing."

My unexpected sob earned me a slow nod of understanding, which only furthered my irritation. Numbness crept over me and I sat very still, concentrating on my unsteady breaths.

"And what were you once you left their home?"

"I was an ignorant bastard," I answered.

He started to sit forward but thought better of it and eased back in his chair. "Then you insult my father."

"Never," I growled, my face burning hot, my hands trembling. "Is this what you wanted all along from me? To humiliate me? May me say something I never wanted to tell you? Something that isn't true?" I stood and cursed at him, spitting out the worst words I could think of. My legs felt weak, barely able to carry me, but I decided I'd rather crawl home than spend another moment in his company.

"I've never found pleasure in the humiliation of others." He stared at me, his gaze filled with honesty.

"Then what? What do you want from me?"

"I don't want anything from you, Cousin."

"Don't call me that."

He paused and licked his lips. "Erik Kimmer."

"Shut. Up."

"Erik."

His tone remained firm, as undaunted as his father's would have been in the same confrontation. I didn't want to believe him or trust him. I wanted him to hate me, to never again welcome me into his house.

"Look at me," he said. "And tell me what you see? A member of your family or a stranger?"

I glanced at him but didn't give him the satisfaction of obedience. "I see a man who has frayed my very last nerve."

"And for that I apologize, Erik, but I understand what you feel. I will not say I know what you feel because I don't. We were at different places in our lives, but your grief is much fresher than mine, more ragged and incomplete. I didn't bury his body, but I buried him all the same and I found closure. Or perhaps I didn't."

I stared at him, frowning.

"Seeing you now, so many years later, confirms his death for me. Even though I always knew he'd passed away, not seeing him—"

"You wouldn't have wanted to see his body," I choked out my words.

He gave a sullen nod. He would have been better at caring for his father's remains. I knew he would have dug a grave faster, spent less time curled into a pathetic, sobbing ball. For every ounce of weakness I possessed he had strength. In silence I searched for some mocking tone or posture, some reason to turn on him but he gave me nothing. He gave me respect.

"I'll take your word for it." He took a breath and cracked his knuckles. "Listen, Cousin. I swear to you I won't take up more of your time. Your wife-to-be deserves a flawless day and I don't wish to rile you any more than I already have."

"Tell me what you want," I muttered.

"I merely want to tell you something, something I think you need to hear me say." He paused and stepped close enough to place his hand on my shoulder. He didn't touch me. I didn't want him to. "You're not your father and I am not mine. By the way you have spoken of your son I know in my heart that you've done everything humanely possible to give him a good life, haven't you?" I didn't reply. I didn't want to talk to him anymore, now that I felt open and bleeding. "My father was a good man, but I didn't grow up to be his equal, only his son. If you're looking for him here, then you'll only find disappointment."

At last I bowed my head and shuddered. "I wish you were him."

"I know," he replied. "For now at least. Read the letters."

"I have."

He looked as though he'd aged before my eyes. With a humorless smile, he took a step away. "Leave the past as the past." I started to protest, to refuse to allow his memory to fade, but Joshua apparently understood my concern. "Carry it lightly," he said. "I think once you talk about it, you'll understand."

Wearily I sat down and rubbed my hand over my forehead. "It was summer when I first met The Shadow," I started.

Joshua nodded, and I told him, my cousin, my living family…everything.


	56. Understanding

As an optional wedding gift for the happy couple, following the last chapter, the epilogue (aka The Wedding Night) will be available first as a download on my website and then a week later for free here. Proceeds will benefit Treasured Friends and Lab-Adore animal fostering and adoption. Don't worry, it won't cost more than 3 bucks to download it, and as I said, if you don't want to buy a copy it will be available a week after the very last chapter, probably right around Valentine's Day.

Also, pleasure check out my site for some eBooks from many different authors, including fan fic writer "Opera Lover" (aka Jill), who was kind enough to write and submit a story for "Read for Rescues". Out of all the people I contacted, only three decided against submitting, so thanks to all of you for writing, and I hope you find something you like to read! There are some fantastic stories with more being added by the end of the month!

OW56

It only took an hour to tell him what I felt was absolutely necessary about my travels with my uncle, The Shadow.

At first I started out in a whisper, though the longer I spoke the more confident I became in myself and my audience. Joshua asked few questions, stopping me only to clarify the names of towns or an exact phrase that his father used. Through it all, he nodded and listened intently, his demeanor polite as ever, his calm a welcomed surprise to the turbulence awakened inside of me.

I trusted him, as I would have trusted his father. When I glanced up at him, however, I noticed more and more differences between the two of them. As he folded his hands or stroked his chin, I saw less of my uncle and more of my cousin.

Once I finished speaking, he sat back and closed his eyes. "Bloody, bloody, terrible hell. An asylum, of all places, when they could have sent you anywhere else."

I was glad he'd shut his eyes because he didn't see the shudder pass through me, the tremor of complete terror I held when I thought of what should have been my fate. I knew precisely what occurred in such places, and I realized I should have feared them much more than I had.

"I would have escaped and gone anywhere but back to their home," I answered casually.

He kept his eyes closed. "After a while you may have found a way out, perhaps, but I think even a day or two would have done considerable damage. They're not meant to give their inhabitants a holiday, after all. People are sent there to more or less die. They're drugged, they're bound, they're confined to their beds for years. It would have been difficult, especially if they knew you were a master of escape."

"I know. I was unmanageable."

"Whose words were those?"

His question startled me, and I jerked back in my seat as if the words had hit me in the chest. "My father's," I answered with a great deal of reluctance.

"And what are your words to describe yourself?"

My hands trembled at the intimacy between us, but I didn't know why I wished to stay and speak with him. Despite how he had irritated me earlier in the evening, I still felt at ease in his presence. For the moment, however, I was agitated; I shifted in my seat and searched for something to train my gaze upon, as though that would calm my nerves.

"I was bored to death," I said, a bit breathlessly. My heart hammered as I thought of other more appropriate answers. I was scared to death that they would kill me, yet hopeful that they would end it at last rather than continue their cruel games.

"The highly intelligent often need more stimulation than the rest of us."

I snorted. "I wasn't a genius. I was…"

He inhaled as though he knew I was about to choose my father's words. I reconsidered what I was about to say.

"I had different interests than they did. My father favored drink, my mother sought consolation in her Bible. I wanted…neither of those things."

"Did you ever find what you were looking for?"

I stared at my right hand and my undecorated ring finger. I wondered if the weight of a band would be noticeable once I began wearing my ring, the single piece of jewelry that signified my bond to Julia. Whether it was the exhaustion that had defeated me or everything I had told him lifting from my chest at last, I felt a sense of freedom, of liberation I had never felt before.

With confidence I met his eye and nodded. I'd found what my parents had denied me, what I'd been offered for a few brief months with my uncle. Though it had changed, came to me in different forms, I still had it. I'd finally been allowed to have it.

"Yes, I did. He was given to me on my doorstep, and I found her closer to me than I'd ever imagined. I found it. Finally. After I'd…" My voice shook, and I paused, composing myself. "Look at me, for God's sake. I never thought I'd find her."

Bessie, who had decided at some point that my foot would be the best place to rest her head, sneezed and drew my attention to her. I leaned forward and couldn't help but smile at her. The ache I'd felt in my chest subsided.

"Of course I meant you, old girl."

She stretched out and ignored me, her tail gently thumping the rug.

"Do you think she's able to sleep?"

"I think she can sleep anywhere," I mumbled.

Joshua cleared his throat, but a chuckle still managed to emerge. "No, I was referring to Madame Seuratti."

"It's not late enough for her to…" I glanced at the clock on the mantle and cursed far louder than was necessary. "How did it become so late?" I obtusely questioned as though I didn't comprehend the concept of time.

Joshua stood. "One in the morning? It's not as late as I thought," he said hopefully. "Still plenty of time to rest before the festivities."

"Good. She'll murder me if I fall asleep in the middle of the ceremony," I muttered.

He chuckled again. "And she'd never allow your ghost to forget your greatest mistake."

I stared at him briefly, finding my ease in his presence ironic since earlier in the evening I'd wanted to hit him in the face. "Never," I agreed.

"She's a rare woman, Madame Seuratti," he said thoughtfully.

"How so?" I asked, shoulders squared to display my defensive nature.

"She is the type of woman men dream of finding. Perhaps not in our youth when we're all ignorant, but later in life when it matters, she is the type of woman a man hopes to God he married twenty, even thirty years ago."

"Yes," I said for lack of anything profound to add to the conversation. We walked out of his parlor and toward his front door.

"Her cousin Anthony has reached that age where he's beginning to realize that a beautiful woman isn't necessarily a good woman, and that beauty often fades. I'd like to think he's found a sensible woman who's far too good for him in my daughter, but I believe she'd say he's plenty good." He chuckled and bent to pet Bessie, who still couldn't get enough of his attention. "Anthony's been close to Madame Seuratti for a long time—or as close as situations would allow."

"How do you know this?"

"Because people talk much more than they'd ever act. Many private situations become public, as you well know."

I cringed. "It's…unfortunate."

"Yes, it's unfortunate when neighbors realize there is a problem but fail to do more than gossip."

I almost told him that I had done more than gossip—that I'd never gossiped, I'd acted…eventually, when it was almost too late. In a way, it had been too late. That bastard had already abused his own daughter and had been abusing Julia for years.

"But there is nothing to be done about the past," he reminded me.

To this I nodded and frowned, knowing he was correct. "There are many situations I would have done differently…many moments I realize I should have…done better."

"You're not alone," he answered quietly. "I wished I would have returned to my parents' house and taken care of my father, but if I had, then he never would have found you. Life does what it wants. There is never any stopping it."

"Your father's philosophy?"

"Astonishingly enough I conjured up those wise words right here on my front porch." He smiled at this thought and gave a full-body laugh that shook his shoulders. I found myself chuckling, and together we acted like schoolboys in the middle of the night, both sharing in an absurd jest.

We walked down the front porch stairs and stood on the dark, silent street. The streetlamps hissed, the yellowish, almost sickly glow of light leading the way down the street.

"You're ready for tomorrow," Joshua said. "To fulfill your duty as a husband?"

My mood instantly brightened, and I nodded. "Yes," I said. "Completely prepared."

He offered his hand, which I shook. "I look forward to seeing you and your bride later today, then, Cousin."

"Thank you," I said awkwardly. "Cousin."

"It's been good to speak of him again," he said as he reached for the railing. "It's good to remember him and to know what he was like those final months."

"I know."

"You've brought me peace," he said, his voice reduced to a soft tremble. "When I didn't realize I still needed it. You've given me more than you'll ever realize."

Tears pricked the back of my eyes, and I turned away from him and lowered my head. No one had ever said I'd brought them peace. I thought I had come to Joshua Kimmer's house seeking answers from him, taking memories that he carried. The sincerity in his voice filled my heart and mind.

"I would like to talk about him again," I said. "On a different night."

"I'll contact my brother. Perhaps he would join us and share insight on our mother as well. It's a shame you never met her."

A family, I thought. I wanted to know more about his family—about my family. "I'd like to know everything," I replied. "Anything you're willing to share," I corrected.

"If you ever wish to speak of your own father, we're cousins, and I will listen if you wish to speak," he offered.

"I don't want to remember him," I answered.

"No, I wouldn't imagine you would, but I think you need to forget him—or rather forget what he did. Think about that a while, Cousin. In time, you may discover it does you some good."

I didn't argue. Bessie tugged on her leash, apparently desiring to return home and spend her last night curled up in bed with me. Of course, I imagined she'd find a way into bed with me even after Julia and I were married. She was, after all, the first woman in my heart even if she did walk on all fours and look at me with her sad, soulful eyes.

"Good night," I said as I started down the street.

"Sleep," he said. "Get some sleep tonight if you can."

I continued down the street, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. All I could think of was that I needed to sleep tonight because I had no desire to sleep on my wedding night. In the back of my mind I could see Julia shake her head and roll her eyes, attempting to appear like a lady despite the twinkle in her eyes.

"My wife," I murmured to Bessie. "Today she will be my wife."


	57. A Morning with Alex

OW57

It was slightly past ten in the morning, and I couldn't remember falling asleep. All I thought about, in the haze between dreams and reality, was that starting today, I would not wake up alone.

The joy Alex had always brought me, the comfort I felt begrudgingly as I listened to Madeline and Meg's prattle, nothing compared to the surge of excitement and trepidation roaring through my body. Commitment, loyalty, and a lifetime of waking to the face I already knew by heart, by the very core of my soul.

"This is my wife, Julia," I murmured to myself, imagining that I introduced her to…someone. It didn't matter if I didn't have anyone to introduce her to at this moment. In time there would new opportunities. Perhaps at the opera performance I'd never taken her to, or near the seashore where we'd spend our honeymoon. I couldn't wait until I could finally call her my wife, my beautiful wife.

Aria purred above my head and sank her nails into my scalp. The painful stabs of razor-sharp claws made me wince, and I batted away the little intruder, who refused to relent.

"Must you do that?" I scolded, knowing that as a cat it was her right.

In reply, she licked my forehead and bit my earlobe, which told me it was time to arise and start my day. The moment I rose from the bed, she curled up on my pillow and looked at me with her one eye as though she'd finally succeeded in regaining her rightful place.

Ignoring her, I dressed with the sound of a violin being skillfully played somewhere in the house. The music was muffled through the crack in the door, though I knew the melody and who was playing.

"Keep practicing," I said under my breath. "As natural as it comes to you, keep practicing, Alexandre."

I wanted him to be the very best, to be the face, the genius behind the music that I never could have been. At last he'd shown interest in music, which I had almost given up on over the last two years when it seemed he'd rather conjure up stories or sketch the clouds in the sky into the shapes of animals. But now he'd realized the talents he'd inherited, and I knew he impressed himself. He was an artist, but he was born a musician at heart.

However, not everyone was impressed by his show of genius.

"Would you please play something else, Alex?" Meg begged. "For the love of God, please play a different song."

"I can't. But I can play this one backward."

I heard Meg groan as I stepped out of my room and walked down the stairs.

"Maybe it will make the baby decide to come out," he said over the first few notes.

"No!" Madeline and Ruby said together.

The music screeched to a halt. "Why not? Wouldn't it make Aunt Meg stop complaining? That's what you said, Grand-mere, isn't it?"

"Well, we don't need that today. Tomorrow or any day after is fine, but not today," Madeline answered.

"But you said Aunt Meg was being a pain in the—"

"Keep playing," Ruby insisted. "Backward, forward, however you'd like."

I entered the parlor in time to see Alex beam at our cook. "Yes, Mademoiselle Ruby," he gushed.

No one noticed me as I stood in the doorway and watched him practice before his small audience. Madeline stood with her hands on Meg's shoulders, her stance motherly and protective of her daughter. Charles sat beside his wife, his hand in hers, and Ruby stood just inside the doorway with a towel in hand, twisting it around her fingers.

I'd only played for Alex when he was younger, and for his mother many years before that—and a lifetime ago for my uncle. I could picture him in an orchestra pit performing for all of Paris. I could see him working on his own compositions—or me working on mine and asking for his suggestions.

In the middle of my musings, Alex abruptly stopped playing and yelled my name. I jolted, startled by the sound of his voice.

"You're awake!" he yelled. It never failed to amaze me how his voice seemed much louder than humanly possible. "Grand-mere, Father is awake!"

Madeline nodded. "I see that."

"We should play together," he suggested.

"Later," I said.

He immediately began explaining that he didn't have lessons today because Charles had designated it as a special day. Then he rambled on for quite some time about how he wanted to wear his suit but Madeline wouldn't allow him to do so because she was certain he'd make a toad castle or an entire city for ants out back, though ants couldn't have a city above ground because they didn't live above ground. I listened and nodded until he was about of breath.

"Did you eat breakfast?" I asked.

"Yes, but I'm still hungry."

"Then sit with me a while," I said.

He grinned, apparently pleased with the thought. I wondered if there would ever come a day when it would seem more like a chore than a privilege to him and knew I would always view his company as special.

With my arm over his shoulders, we walked into the dining room while Ruby made a second helping of eggs, toast, and ham. She poured coffee for me and gave Alex milk, which he'd never been fond of. He asked to taste my coffee, which, after the first sip, made him return to his milk.

"You've practiced quite a bit," I said to him.

"Well, not as much as you wanted me to practice, but more than I thought I would. It's boring playing the same thing over and over again. I want to learn something else."

"Such as?"

He shrugged. "What else have you written?"

I almost choked on my food. He had no idea what a compliment it was for me to hear that my son wanted to play the music I'd written.

"Only a dozen operas," I answered. "Perhaps two dozen. Then there are several symphonies, concertos…" I glanced at him and saw him yawn. "Bored, are you?"

"No," he answered, covering his mouth. "Grand-mere made me get out of bed early to take a bath. And I didn't sleep well."

"Why not?"

"I was worried," he answered without looking at me.

"About what?"

"My new mother."

My brow furrowed. "What about your new mother?"

"She won't have anything bad happen to her, will see?" he asked. "Like what happened to Madame de Chagny?"

I looked at him for a moment, unsure of what he was asking. He still sounded bitter when he referred to Christine, though I didn't want to question him about that for the moment. He had a reason to be bitter, I knew. Everything had happened swiftly without him really understanding who she was or what had happened to her. Now he would replace her in his life, and finally have a mother when he'd never had one before.

"Do you mean to ask if she will leave you?"

"I don't know," he answered, appearing ashamed. "I don't want anything to happen to her…and last night I had a dream that she…she left us."

"She won't," I answered firmly. Not by choice, at least. I couldn't account for accidents or health, but I knew she would never pack her belongings and flee.

"I remember that Lissy was very upset. I don't want my new sister to lose her mother."

I imagined what he really wanted to say was that he didn't want to lose his new mother. In silence I nodded and sipped my coffee while he stared at the table.

"What happened in your dream?" I asked.

"A man came and took her away."

"What man?"

"He didn't have a face, but he said he was Lissy's father. He said he would take them both back, but he didn't take Lissy."

"No one is going to come here and take Madame Seuratti or Lissy."

"I know he's dead like my mother, but I don't want them to leave." He paused and lifted his head. "May I call her Mother now? I don't want to call her Madame Seuratti any more," he blurted out.

With a smile, I nodded. "You have my permission."

"I love them both," he said.

"I know. So do I." I would give my life for them, I knew. If anything should ever happen, I would do whatever it took to protect my wife, my son, and my daughter. My family.

"I wish it wasn't bad luck to see the bride before the wedding," he sighed. He planted his elbows on the table and sulked.

"I'm certain they're in the midst of feminine activities that would bore you to death."

"Probably." He sounded more miserable by the second.

"But you still want to see them?"

"No, not really," he confessed. He left me perplexed as usual. He didn't want to be involved with their activities, but he didn't want to be separated from them. "But I want to do something…manly."

I blinked at him. I hadn't planned for any manly activities, which to me meant a form of physical labor. In all truth, I wasn't quite sure what he wanted to do, but I suspected it would be unusual. With Alexandre, it always was.

"And what do you intend for me to do?" I asked.

"There is an orchestra in the park. I thought perhaps you and I and even Uncle Charles could listen for a while. Just us men," he said.

I studied him a moment and noticed the silent pleading in his eyes for an afternoon spent in the park. I wondered what he expected would happen once I was married to Julia, if he thought a wife to me meant I'd be less of a father to him. After what had happened with Christine I couldn't blame him.

"What time?"

"In an hour, I think."

I placed my empty cup on the table and exhaled. "Then I suggest you eat faster," I said.


	58. The Longest Week

OW

This had felt like one of the longest weeks of my life.

After much begging on Alex's part for his uncle and teacher to accompany us for the afternoon, Charles decided he preferred to spend his time at home writing letters and outlining a new book, at his friend Monsieur Kite's prompting. Apparently Oxford awaited his genius, and not even the promise of an outdoor concert could persuade him otherwise. I could tell by his expression that he would have liked to join us, however, I assumed he thought this afternoon belonged to father and son, not father, son, and uncle.

We'd walked to the park together, my long legs barely able to keep pace with an overly enthusiastic child who seemed determined to sprint to the park. In his wake, I followed with Bessie straining at her leash, front legs in the air half the time as she attempted to bound after Alex. She bayed with as much enthusiasm as Alex walked, which made for quite a sight. I imagined it looked like I was a man barely able to control a mad hound desperately following at the heels of a child.

Thankfully, our brisk journey exhausted both dog and boy by the time we reached the park, and with our blanket spread out on the grass, Bessie turned in a circle three times, plopped down, and forgot that we existed.

Toward the far stretches of the sprawling Parisian park, I lay with my hat over my face to block the bright sun filtering through the trees and the curious eyes of onlookers. We sat a way's back from the rest of the crowd and boys peddling treats, but the music rang clear through the outdoor setting.

Every so often a healthy gust of wind would lighten the heavy, moist air of late summer, sending a hint of perfume, fresh, ripe fruit, and picnic lunches our way. Bessie kicked in her sleep, chasing rabbits—or perhaps Alexandre—while my son sat and hummed to the melody of cellos, violins, a bass, and several flutes.

I'd never expected to feel comfortable outdoors amongst others, and at first I lay rigid, prepared to escape should someone venture too close or question us. But soon enough I realized that no one cared if I was in attendance. I was merely a man out with his son, a gentleman enjoying a fine afternoon. No one cared about my past or that I was hours away from the future I'd always wanted.

"Do you think they'll play something you composed?" Alex asked.

"It seems unlikely," I replied.

"But they might."

"If they run out of material," I answered.

He only laughed, apparently enjoying my self-deprecation. .

Though I couldn't see him, I swore I could sense his excitement in the air. This was his day as much as it was mine, and I felt that he was my comrade in adventure. He bent close to me several times and excitedly asked if I knew who had composed the last song or whether I had the sheet music for it at home, because he wanted to play it.

"Why this interest in music all of a sudden?" I questioned, tipping my hat slightly to eye him.

"It's not as boring as you once made it seem."

To this I jerked from the unexpected shock of his words. "I do beg your pardon?"

He gave a toothy grin and rocked back, his palms crushing the blanket into the grass. "Well, you spent hour after hour dedicated to music. I rather thought it was boring to sit there and play, write, play, write… Is it?"

"Not if you enjoy it," I answered, still offended by his comment.

"Well, I don't know if I'd call playing the violin my favorite thing in the world, but I do want to try. It does seem easy."

"Easy," I muttered irritably. "You think it's easy?"

"I don't think it's hard," he said, as though to comfort me. "Did you ever find it difficult?"

I peered at him, my lips, which had once been set in a deep frown, turned upward. "Not difficult, but certainly not easy. I had to learn, just as you are learning."

This seemed to pique his interest. His eyes widened. "Someone taught you? Who was it? A master of the violin?"

"He wasn't a master when I met him, but he was a very good teacher, so long as I was a willing student." I paused, took my hat from my face, and smiled. "My uncle. The man for whom you were named."

"Then that must be why I'm so good," he gasped without a hint of modesty. "My namesake."

"Indeed, because I had nothing to do with it, being your father and all."

"Nothing," he agreed with a wide, mischievous grin. "You're not _irritated_ about it, are you, Father?" His eyebrows shot up, his dimples set deep in his cheeks. He had a way of making me want to scream and hug him all in the same moment. How I wished my childhood had been like his.

"You're like him," I said, my voice softening. "You're a great deal like him."

He blinked at me, then flopped down on his side, which surprised Bessie into a snort that was quickly replaced by sleep once more. He blinked, his eyes wide, hopeful. "Tell me everything about him."

To the background music of the outdoor symphony, I did.

-o-

We returned two hours before the ceremony with enough time to wash up, change into the proper attire, and listen to a houseful of women worrying over flowers, weather, torn fabric, and whatever else they could possibly think of when it came to wedding day disasters.

My body still felt warm from the sun, my worn clothes scented with grass, which seemed to cling to my skin. I rubbed a hand over my freshly shaven flesh and noticed the slight tremble of anticipation. There was now less than two hours before I would see Julia.

Alex stood with his ear to my bedroom door and eavesdropped on their conversation. From the mirror, as I buttoned my lawn shirt, I saw him nod and smile.

"What are they saying?" I asked.

"That my new mother looks beautiful," he said proudly, his cheeks rosy and his smile beaming with delight. "And Lis too, but no one will care what she looks like. She's only the bride's daughter."

"Why must you pick on her?" I questioned, fearing for them bickering to turn into the disaster. "I thought the two of you were best friends."

"Oh, well, we are, but she's a girl," he said as though it were a terrible fate.

"So she is."

"Though she doesn't act like one. That's what Grand-mere says."

"Your Grand-mere says a lot of things," I replied as I adjusted my cufflinks. I wondered if I had dressed too early, as once Alex's hair was combed, we would both be sitting upstairs like a pair of captives.

He looked at me and cocked his head to the side. "What do you think it would be like to hear one of your compositions in the park?"

"Quite exhilarating," I replied.

He sat down and nearly squashed Aria, whom I hadn't noticed on the bed. "You've really never seen one of your operas performed?"

"No, I have never sat in the audience and watched a performance."

He didn't have to ask why, though I noticed his agitation. "What if my new mother wants to attend a performance?"

"Then I won't stop her," I answered.

"Would you attend with her?"

He sounded very much like an adult, which always took me by surprise, and also saddened me. Selfishly I wanted him to stay young, to remain a child forever. I looked at him and remembered how Madeline had once commented that one day he'd be a father…and I'd be a grandfather. Thank god that wouldn't happen any time soon.

"No man ever allows a beautiful woman to attend an opera alone," I replied.

"She's the most beautiful mother ever, isn't she, Father?"

Where he'd learned such passion was beyond me. I smiled at him, my prince of a son, the boy who could either compose music or novels. He had greater talent than I'd ever had, and he had the face to lead him to greatness. One day I would sit in an opera box and listen to his first opera.

"Yes, she is," I said softly.

"And so is Grand-mere. And Aunt Meg," he said, his chest puffing up in triumph. "Well, almost. Do you think the baby will come tonight? I think Grand-mere said Aunt Meg was in pain."

"I think your aunt has enough sense to wait another day," I answered.

"But Grand-mere said babies arrive when they want to. Did I arrive when I wanted—" He clamped his mouth tightly shut and stared at me, apologetic. He knew I hadn't been there for his first months of life, hadn't seen my child still wet from birth and rosy pink. He'd been approximately four months old when he'd come into my life, and I deeply regretted not being there for his birth, even though I'd had no idea he existed.

I looked down, embarrassed by the turn in conversation. Had I made it up to him yet? Had I finally redeemed myself for missing his earliest days?

"I'm certain you arrived when you wanted. You've always done what you wanted, haven't you?"

His eyes brightened. "I do what you say," he said with a smile. "Always. Almost. Well…almost always."

"Then do what I say now and go practice Julia's song one last time," I told him. "It should be perfect."

"It will be," he answered. With that he turned on his heel and scrambled out of the room.

I glanced at the clock. One more hour. Only one more hour left before our vows.


	59. Gone Missing

OW59

Once I finished dressing and had absolutely nothing left to do but wait, I stared at my reflection to make certain I hadn't forgotten to do anything such as tie a shoe or button my waistcoat.

I combed my hair back and covered it with a hairpiece, the one that was slightly longer and freshly cleaned. Days had passed since I'd worn it, and now that I'd reverted back to wearing a hairpiece it felt like a lie. However, this day was too important, and I wanted to appear as the perfect groom, at least from the neck down.

With Alex gone, I walked into the water closet and shaved once more until my face was perfectly smooth and slightly reddened from the razor. All the while, I imagined Julia's fingers caressing my throat, her fingertips skimming my lips as we lay together that night. I knew I would remember this day, my wedding day, but I wanted the ceremony, our first meal as husband and wife, and our first night as a married couple to be the only things she thought of when she thought of being a wife.

In short, I wanted to completely erase all thoughts of her first husband from her mind.

Once I finished, I splashed on cologne before I put on my cravat and overcoat. With one last look, I adjusted my mask and placed my hands in my pockets to observe what I looked like as a groom.

Strangely, I looked like myself, only more nervous. I swallowed incessantly and moved back and forth, shifting my weight like a damned schoolboy. The more I tried to stop such unnecessary behavior the worse it became, until finally I had to turn away from the mirror.

I found myself staring at my bed and couldn't help but wonder if our intimate life together would change. I smiled when I realized I would no longer have to wait for a candle to signal my acceptance into her bed. We would share our space. No more leaving in the middle of the night to return to cold sheets. From now on I would sleep with my arm around her and my face in her hair, I'd kiss her goodnight and know in the morning she'd be there.

Every night I had returned home had been out of duty, not out of desire to do so. From the very first time she'd invited me upstairs I'd wanted to lay with her until morning, but I couldn't risk leaving at dawn and being discovered. It seemed foolish in hindsight that we hadn't married long ago.

"I was foolish," I muttered. "Foolish and blind."

When I pulled my hand out of my pocket, an envelope flew out and floated to the rug. It landed inches from my toes, and I saw my name written on the front of it. Brow furrowed, I stooped and picked it up, noticing at once the smell of sandalwood.

On the back was printed "Do not open until after the ceremony".

"Julia," I whispered.

I ripped the seal open, ignoring her words. On the inside was my name, once again, in perfect script. Below it, in smaller lettering read "I knew you wouldn't listen. Impatient as always, my love."

"Most amusing," I said to myself as I opened the note and found two tickets to _On Summer Nights_. Once I realized what I was staring at, I had to sit down.

In all of our planning and preparing for the wedding, I hadn't expected to attend an opera, let alone one I had written. My mouth went dry as I stared at two tickets for an evening performance. They were box seats, the most perfect seats one could image. It had been ten years since I'd last seen an opera performed and my heart ached to sit within a theater and simply watch the performance. Nothing could have meant more to me than this.

Once I recovered from the shock of it all, I looked at the back of the note card and read Julia's words.

"You promised me an opera," it read. "As your wife, you cannot deny me." She even drew a small heart, which made me smile.

"So I did," I mumbled. "But I never thought it would be one of my own."

I sat on the edge of my bed until Alex tore up the stairs like a bull and charged into the room. With the tickets still in hand, I merely stared at him, unconcerned by his antics.

"Father," he gasped, nearly collapsing at my feet.

"You're in an awful hurry," I commented, thinking he'd need to remove his shirt and have it ironed before the ceremony, especially since he insisted on running wild.

He tugged at my hand and I nearly lost my grip on the tickets. "Come quickly," he urged.

Meg, I thought. She'd gone and worked herself up and now the baby was coming. Of all the bloody days to start her pains she'd chosen one hour before my wedding. I should have known.

"Has your grand-mere had the sense to call a midwife?"

He gave me a strange look. "Madame Seuratti told me to fetch you at once."

"Me? Whatever for?"

"Lissy," he said. "She's gone missing."

I wasted no time with questions or thinking. At once I pushed past him and stormed down the stairs, my mind pulled in a dozen different directions. Alex blurted out all of the details: The last she'd been seen was well over an hour ago when Julia had sent Lisette to the flower shop in order to replace a dozen daisies inadvertently crushed while Lissy played in the house.

With Alex at my heels I burst into the kitchen and found Ruby, Madeline, and Meg crowded around with their hands over their mouths as they whispered.

"Where is Julia?" I demanded.

"At home," Madeline answered, already well aware of my question. "Waiting."

"Who is searching for her?" I asked.

They all looked uneasy, which plainly told me that Lisette was alone in the world. I refused to think of what could have happened to her as I knew people disappeared every day, both young and old, and they were never seen or heard from again. Images of gypsies bubbled to life in the back of my mind, but I refused to see her bound, gagged, and tossed into the back of a wagon, her tiny form covered in filthy sheets. She was not far away, I told myself. Perhaps she'd lost track of the time and had wandered a bit longer than she'd intended. Perhaps the damned florist had coaxed her into roses and lilies instead of daisies. It was nothing to worry about, I assured myself. There couldn't be other possibilities. No one would steal my daughter away from me before I had the opportunity to consider her as my own. No one would dare take her.

I turned to Alex. "Where would she have gone?"

He pursed his lips. "Other than the florist?"

"Yes, Alex, other than the florist," I said impatiently. Every second wasted on conversation was another footstep further from our home. The possibility of her merely wandering away seemed unlikely considering Julia would have told her a thousand times to return home at once. My hopes for an innocent misunderstanding became weaker and weaker.

"I would say that she went to the candy shop. Or perhaps…to the candy store. Or even bakery for sweets, though since there's a cake I don't see why she'd want candy."

The bakery.

"Anthony," I said under my breath.

He'd been against the wedding from the start. What better way to stop me from marrying Julia than kidnapping her daughter? For his sake, I hoped I'd misjudged him. If I was correct and he'd stolen Lissy there would be hell to pay.

"Go to the florist and the candy shop," I told him as he followed me down the hall to the front door. "Look in the window to the hat shop and the toy store and return here at once. Do you understand?"

"Where are you going?" he asked.

I grabbed my hat. "To the bakery."

I was certain it would be my last stop.


	60. To Hell

I'm going to be running a contest very soon to celebrate the release of one of my two upcoming books. They're hot! Just ask my prereaders, my wonderful members of Gabrinaland.

OW60

That damned dog nearly tripped me as I walked out the front door. I ordered her back inside at once, but she merely howled at me, her tail wagging furiously. People across the street stopped to stare at the imbecile unable to reason with his hound, and finding myself bested, I grabbed her leash and told her to keep up or be left behind.

"She'll smell her," Alex said quite proudly before we parted ways at the corner. "That must be why Bessie insists on coming with you, Father. She knows Lissy is missing."

"If Lisette were made of table scraps, I'd agree with you," I answered.

"She's going to be in an awful lot of trouble, don't you think?" he said under his breath. "When my new mother discovers where she's been on such an important day…" He whistled. "I would hate to be her."

I glanced at him and saw him wipe a tear from his cheek. He inhaled sharply and turned away from me, shielding his face to keep me from seeing his distress over the situation. No matter what he said, he feared for her. He just refused to show it.

"Run to the candy store," I told him. I put my hand on his shoulder and gave him a gentle shove in the right direction. He looked at me and forced a smile.

"I'll run fast as I can. Twice as fast as I've ever run before."

"Good. If you find her, send her home and then find me at the bakery."

"Her uncle delivered the cake not more than two hours ago," Alex said. "Do you think she decided to visit him?"

"Perhaps," I said, wondering if Lissy had disappeared much longer than anyone had realized. In the chaos and excitement, she very well may have been ushered into Anthony's carriage and whisked away. Lissy herself certainly would not have argued with her uncle if he told her to take a ride with him.

He nodded and shielded his face with his hand as he squinted in the bright sunlight. "We'll find her, won't we, Father? We'll find her and Madame Seuratti will consider us heroes."

"Go," I said to him, unable to lie. I had no idea what we would find, and the horrific images of her dead body tossed into the river or bound and gagged and forced into someone's house wouldn't leave me alone.

I shivered at the thought of her being abused or mistreated in any way. It angered me to think of anyone making her cry. I wondered if she'd remember what her own father had done to her. Of course she did, I told myself. She would remember it, even vaguely, as I still did almost forty years past. Even now, despite not seeing my parents in just under three decades, I still knew the layout of their cellar, still awoke remembering the smell of cheap liquor and my father's vomit.

Lisette would not succumb to such horrors. I wouldn't allow it. And—at any rate—if she'd been taken by Anthony, I highly doubted he was capable of killing. Stalling a wedding was one thing, murdering his cousin's beloved child was another. However, I also would never have imagined Charles as being able to take another's life, and he was a soldier. But, I imagined men were more capable of atrocities than they would have ever imagined. Not even I had set out to be what I had become.

Bessie plowed forward through the streets, heedless to the crowds strolling past. She nearly clipped a baby carriage, then forced a boy hawking newspapers to leap over her short, stout body.

She'd never managed to track or catch anything more than a dead mouse she'd clawed from a hole in the wall. Despite her persistence, I had my doubts that she followed Lisette's scent, considering I'd never actually given her an article belonging to Julia's daughter in the off chance that Bessie would attempt to find the girl.

We wove our way through the street until the sign for the bakery came into sight, where there was a man standing outside. He faced away from me, but by his stature and posture, I was certain I knew him.

As if he sensed me nearing him, he turned, and I found him cradling his right hand with his left.

"Monsieur Kimmer," I said.

"Monsieur Kire," he replied with a smile. "She's fine."

My lips parted, and I stammered, "How…did you know?"

He checked his watch and snapped it shut, wincing as he did so. "Because the ceremony is to start in thirty-five minutes. I did, however, expect to see Madame Seuratti. She is well, I hope—as well as a mother missing her child can be."

"Where is Lisette?" I asked impatiently.

He squinted in the sunlight. "Inside."

I glared at the bakery storefront, thought of how I would stick that bastard into an oven and cook him alive. With my hands shaking in rage, I prepared to tie Bessie to a tree, but she fought me in her desperate attempts to reach Joshua.

"Here," he said, reaching for the leash. "I'll hold the old girl."

"I'll kill him," I muttered. "The bloody, worthless bastard."

"Of whom do you speak?"

"Anthony Seuratti!" I hissed. "Who the hell else?"

He studied me a moment with the calm, knowing demeanor I had thought only his father could accomplish. It shamed me—once I realized that I had no earthly idea of what had happened. The only knowledge I'd been offered was that Lisette was safe and inside the bakery.

"It must run in the family to jump to conclusions and assume the worse," he said in a tone that made it seem as though we were discussing the weather.

It infuriated me that he had information and didn't share it at once. I had half the mind to ask him to return Bessie's leash into my possession and I'd sort everything out on my own. I needed no one's help. I was perfectly capable of storming through the door, grabbing Lisette by the hand, and marching her home.

"Monsieur Seuratti found her inside Monsieur Testan's carriage," Joshua said. He took a step toward me and allowed Bessie to eat something off the sidewalk, which caused her to snort and lick her face in delight.

"Why did he—" I paused and absorbed his words. "He…he had her? Why?"

Joshua shrugged. "I have no idea. When I saw Anthony struggling with a man named Monsieur Falchetti I expected I should help him—especially once I heard the little girl howling for him to release her."

"Max Falchetti?"

"Indeed. Madame Seuratti's brother, is that correct? I've never met him personally, however, Anthony has said many unflattering things about him of late. He doesn't agree with how Max treats his sister, and he didn't think it wise for Monsieur Falchetti to attend the wedding, seeing as how they have their differences."

I stared at him, unable to believe what I'd heard. Max was supposed to be in Italy. After our last encounter—or rather his unfortunate run-in with Archie Leach, I had never expected to see him again.

"He claimed he wanted a word with Lisette."

"Where is he? He will not use her as a pawn to control Julia. She's a child, a mere child. If he's harmed her, if he's done anything to her at all…" I couldn't finish my sentence. It was unnecessary as we both knew what I wanted to do to him.

Joshua paused as though he wasn't sure he could trust me with such information, though I couldn't understand why he wouldn't tell me at once so that I could make certain Max never returned.

"I cannot say I blame you after the words I heard come from his mouth, not only in front of Lisette, but also in front of my daughter. A man of his supposed breeding should know better."

"What were you doing here?" I demanded, though I was more curious than angered.

"Waiting for my daughter. She and Anthony returned for a forgotten hat, and I was left to mind the carriage." He shifted his weight and looked me over, taking in my wedding garb. "I will not aid in your arrest and jailing on the day of your wedding to Madame Seuratti," he said with a hint of frustration in his voice. "Anthony, I dare say, has done enough to frighten the child for a good ten years and give Paris enough to talk about for two decades. I humbly suggest you escort the Mademoiselle home at once."

My eyes narrowed. I'd come prepared to kill someone if necessary. To leave now seemed a waste of emotion. "Is he still here?"

"Anthony is persuading him to leave at once."

"I'm much more convincing," I snarled, cracking my knuckles in preparation of shattering his nose.

"Erik," he warned. "You eluded capture once, after the disaster in the opera house. If you are found now, what will happen to your life? You think what happened will be forgotten?"

"No one will find him," I replied.

"In broad daylight, in the middle of the city?" he challenged.

"He took my daughter," I said.

"Future daughter."

"She should be my daughter now."

I stormed past him, leaving him with Bessie as I entered the bakery. Metal clattered in the back, which drew me past the counter and through the doorway, which stood ajar like an invitation.

The first person I saw was Lisette. Her hair was down, pinned only on the sides to keep it from her face. She wore her finest dress, a miniature of her mother. Had she been anywhere else, I would have thought of her as the most beautiful little girl I'd ever seen.

"Lissy!" Anthony shouted, but it was too late. She ran for me, and before I had a chance to react, she threw her arms around my waist and hit my breastbone with her forehead.

"Is Mother cross?" she asked, swiping at the tears on her cheeks.

"Not with you," I answered. I stared down at her and awkwardly placed my hand against her back. Having a daughter was still a concept I hadn't fully grasped—especially one gone missing.

"What happened?" I asked her as I stared across the room at Anthony, who had put himself between me and Lisette and Max Falchetti. Anthony gave a nod to me, and I noticed how disheveled he appeared. There must have been a struggle over Lisette, which angered me. She'd been terrorized enough by her father. She didn't need her other relatives placing her in the middle.

I squeezed her shoulder. "What did he do to you?"

"Nothing," she answered meekly.

"Wait outside with Monsieur Kimmer," I told her. "Tell him I said you may take Bessie for a walk to the corner and back."

Her eyes lit up at the mention of the dog. "Bessie came for me, too?"

"Of course she did," I answered, amused by her. "She sniffed you out, all the way across town."

She looked absolutely astonished and all together quite pleased. "Does Alex know?"

"Not yet."

She turned to leave but abruptly paused and faced me once more. "Uncle Max said very bad things," she told me.

I nodded, my rage returning at once. I would cut out his tongue and he'd never say anything to her again.

"I didn't believe him," she continued. "He's wrong, I know it."

"What did he say?"

"He said you would go to hell and so would Mother if she married you."

With as much calm as I could feign, I directed her toward the door. "Nothing will happen to your mother," I assured her. "I won't allow anything to happen to you, or her, or Alex."

The same could not be said for her uncle.

I watched her go before I turned back to Max and Anthony, thinking it was a damned shame Anthony wasn't a butcher.


	61. Stolen Fortunes

If you're over the age of 18 check out my website, an excerpt for my story being published in May at Amber Heat, and the contest going on now through the end of May 2007. Please support me in my first solo release! The book will retail for around 3 bucks and is one of about seven stories I have coming out this year.

Thanks for your continued support! I promise I'm working on all my fan fic stories as much as my schedule allows with a full time job, volunteer work, and my kids. Kire is one of my favorite characters, and I do plan on giving him as much attention as possible. He'll be married hopefully by Mothers Day!

OW61

Anthony cut his eyes from Max to me. "I have this under control," he said coldly. "Find Lissy." As an afterthought, he added, "Monsieur Kire."

"I've already found her."

He gave a curt nod. "Then return to her at once and give her back to her mother before she worries herself to death."

"She's with Monsieur Kimmer."

"You're not needed here," he said. "I said I have this under control."

I had half the mind to shove him aside, but instead I moved to stand beside him and glared at Max, who didn't seem as concerned as he should have, given his current situation. He looked as though Anthony had roughed him up a bit, though compared to what I wanted to do to him he was the picture of health.

"It's not yours to handle," I replied, my gaze never leaving Max's.

I expected firm protest from Anthony, but he merely inhaled and gave a curt nod. "Tie him up, gag him, and leave him here until after the ceremony. He isn't worth the time spent, especially on a day like this."

I'd never been a patient man, however. Not only was I anxious to marry Julia, but I also wanted answers from Max. In the heat of the moment, I wanted to beat answers out of him, although I knew he wouldn't submit to me, not even on his death bed. Defiant and belligerent, he'd hold his tongue—which I expected would be quite literally if he tested me further.

"Excuse us a moment," I said to Anthony in order to keep myself from saying anything scathing. For the sake of answers, I needed to remain calm and pretend Max hadn't annoyed the living hell out of me. How it galled me that he saw me approach him without a hint of disgust.

Anthony took a step forward. "Wouldn't you rather—"

"I said excuse us a moment," I replied firmly.

Anthony had his best intentions at heart, I knew. His fondness for Julia and Lisette made him want to assist in whatever manner was necessary, though the best place for him was far from me while I harbored rage inside.

"Very well," he said under his breath. With quick, sharp movements he pulled his shirt sleeves down and adjusted his cufflinks. Then, without warning, he drew back his arm and hit Max square in the face. "Don't you ever—_ever_—frighten Lisette like that again. How dare you hurt her, your own niece. You pig-faced son of a—"

He stood over Max, who had faltered, and stared down at him, his chest heaving. Without sparing me a glance, he stormed off and returned to the front of the bakery.

"You're not worth the words," Anthony growled before the door shut.

"Why are you here?" I asked once Max and I were alone in the back.

"Go to hell." He spit blood and saliva at my shoes and turned his face away as I clenched my hands into fists.

No one spit on me. I'd been humiliated and disgraced all of my life, but I would not tolerate anyone, especially Julia's ignorant brother, spitting on me.

"You're much closer to hell than I am," I said.

One by one I flexed my fingers and listened to them crack, the result of years playing the violin tirelessly when I lived beneath the opera house. Some days I was certain I could play a symphony through my joints.

"You've sullied her. You cannot deny it."

What man would be fool enough to deny sullying a beautiful, intelligent woman? Rather than answer, I merely nodded in agreement, which I suspected would anger him much more than it would ever bother me.

"And now she'll end up just like the last woman you tormented."

My eyes narrowed. He knew about Christine, which I hadn't expected, but he obviously knew none of the details. How he knew about her at all was beyond me, though I didn't at all appreciate him delving into my past.

"What in the hell are you muttering about?"

He gave a smug smile, knowing he had burrowed past my nonchalant attitude and found a way to irritate me. The last person I wanted to discuss on my wedding day was Christine. This day—this long awaited moment—belonged to me and Julia.

"Ah, you wish to play a fool, do you? Don't bother acting as though you're unaware, Monsieur. You know damn well who I'm referring to, you ignorant—"

Anger threatened to split me in two. "Is this how you intended to keep your sister from marrying me? Telling her daughter tales of Christine in hopes that she'd run to her mother?"

"I don't owe you answers."

"Look around you, Max. If you had any sense, you'd save yourself another beating."

Despite his best attempts to remain impassive, his nose wrinkled, the slightest hint that he had no desire to relive what had happened between himself and Archie Leach. He had no idea what I was capable of doing when provoked—and he didn't look as though he honestly wished to find out.

"Kill me," he said, spitting blood again. He hawked and spit inches from my foot, then wiped his mouth with a trembling hand. His actions belied his brave words. He was too afraid to die, especially when he was unable to confess all of his lies.

"You must think I'm a bloody fool to kill you on my wedding day." I planted my fists on my hips and shook my head. "Ruin the most important day in our life and martyr you in the process. Never."

"It's the only way you'll ever marry her."

"It would be just as easy to call Anthony back here and have him tie you up."

"I'd break his neck."

"I thought you wanted me to kill you."

"You're too much a coward." He shrank away from me as he spoke, and I wasn't quite sure why he continued to provoke me. Perhaps he thought I'd do the opposite of what he said—though I honestly wanted to kill him if he said another word to me.

Ignoring him as he continued to taunt me, I walked around the table in the center of the room, making foot prints through a dusting of flour that covered the floor. Racks of baking pans lay empty, awaiting work in the morning. Made of iron, I imagined wielding one of them would leave Max with an unforgettable mark across his forehead—or a crooked nose.

"She already had no desire to ever see you again. What do you think she'll do with now that you attempted to kidnap Lisette?"

"Perhaps in a year she'll thank me and beg for my forgiveness when she discovers what hell you've created around her."

I stalked toward him and started to reach for his shirt collar. My every intention was to haul him to his feet and slam him against the wall, but I sensed that was what he wanted. If Julia discovered I'd brutalized her brother, she wouldn't be pleased—no matter how justified my actions. I didn't want her to choose between me and her brother.

"Her husband created hell for her, not me," I said with as much calm as I could muster. "And by allowing him to beat her nightly, you contributed to her suffering. Don't accuse me of ever hurting her."

"It wasn't nightly," he said under his breath.

"Then I suppose it was justified if he only beat her four times a week. Is that your reasoning? A rest between times he hurt her?"

"I know your past," he said through his teeth. "Opera Ghost."

His attempts to keep me from Julia had become desperate, which I assumed he realized judging by the look in his eyes.

"My past is hardly a secret from Julia."

"What about your son?"

"He knows."

"Does he know that you drove his mother mad?"

I couldn't restrain myself a moment longer, and I grabbed him by the collar and pulled him up, then allowed him to drop with a heavy thump. It was as much as I could do to him, but it gave me little satisfaction. No one dragged Alexandre into my affairs, and no one—absolutely no one—made his mother's mistakes into his.

"You know nothing of my son," I growled.

"I know more than you think."

"Not enough to stop my marriage." I looked away from him and decided I'd rather leave him bound and gagged than waste another moment on arguing or playing his petty games. "Whatever you think you know, Julia already knows the truth."

He started to climb to his feet, and I stood back and watched him flounder like a wet newborn animal trying its feet for the first time. Anthony had apparently enjoyed several minutes of uninterrupted pummeling before I arrived. By the looks of him, Max was covered in sore spots.

"I know you're using him to obtain the de Chagny fortune."

Caught off guard, I stared at him a moment before I chuckled to myself at the absurdity of his accusation. Apparently he knew nothing about me if he thought I wanted—much less needed—anything from Raoul de Chagny.

"The de Chagny fortune?" I questioned.

"Having the Comte de Chagny fund your son's education," he said, though he didn't seem quite certain of his words. "You've met with him several times."

"Have I?"

"You know what I'm saying is true."

"Yes, I suppose I crawled to him, penniless ass that I am, and begged him to care for a child that isn't his," I replied, tugging at my freshly tailored suit sleeve. With a sharp exhale, I crossed my arms and rolled my tongue along the inside of my cheek. "Or perhaps I bribed him into submission, much as you're attempting to do now."

"You'll destroy her," he blurted out, his body trembling with rage. "Mentally, perhaps physically…her social status will be ruined, and no man would ever consider Lisette. Look at yourself. What spell have you placed my sister under that she would ever think she'd be happy with you in her life? And what in the hell have you done to Lisette that she wants to call you her father?"

I swallowed, temporarily paralyzed by his words. As much as he didn't matter to me, I didn't want anyone to think of me as someone who would hurt a woman or child—not even Max Falchetti. All of my life I'd fixated on the opinions of others, no matter if I did everything in my power to make people hate, fear, or respect me. That would never change.

But I wanted to change him and his impression of me, as I saw no justification for his feelings and that's what galled me.

"Max," I said, casually leaning against the table in preparation for a long, unpleasant discussion.

"You dare disrespect me?"

"If I wanted to disrespect you, I'd do far worse than use your given name."

His nostrils flared, and a trickle of blood streamed from his nose. He merely stared at me, making no attempt to wipe it away. I wondered if someone would inform Julia that Lisette was safe and that her brother was accountable. As much as I wanted her to know I'd found her daughter, I didn't want her to know what had happened—at least not until after we were married. I realized, however, that no matter what she'd remember this day for the wrong reasons, which angered me.

"I don't know who has convinced you that I pose a threat to your sister and niece, but no matter what, I will marry Julia. Now, you should know that when I speak, I abhor interruptions. Do try to sit quietly and rather than tell you what I've done to Julia, I'll tell you what I've never done to her or Lisette."

He started to protest, but I shoved my finger in his face, and he sat dumbfounded.

"I guarantee my list is the opposite of your dearly departed friend Louis."


	62. Where the Day Begins

_A/N : I opened my bulletin board for registration, so if you enjoyed the Kire stories and want to see what I'm working on next—and for a special sneak peek of the wedding night, sign up for an account. You can access it by going to my website._

_You can also sign up for my exclusive newsletter and be entered for the monthly contest. Free stuff and excerpts to read. Woo hoo. Plus my first book with Amber Quill should be out in about ten more days. It's a fun, fast read and I hope you'll enter my contest and check it out! _

_Thanks to all of you for continuing to read my stories and support me. It means a lot to have such supportive friends. I know that it's taken me longer to write this than anyone probably expected, but to know that many of you have been very understanding of my goals and know this is just for fun has made it easier on me. I'd hate to disappoint anyone, so I'm doing the very best I can while juggling my two little boys, my foster dogs, my real life and two different jobs. _

_There are many different stories on here, and you can stop reading mine at any time. I realize that and truly appreciate your patience and understanding. I chose to continue writing these, you chose to continue reading. Y'all are the best! _

**OW62**

He had no choice but to listen to me.

I didn't look at him as I listed what Louis Seuratti had done to his wife and kept everything I knew of his abuse to Lisette a secret. Julia would have wanted it that way, I suspected, and to me it was no business of Max's.

"How would you know this?" he asked through his teeth.

"Because Louis Seuratti kept few household secrets from the rest of the neighborhood," I replied.

Louis snorted. "He beat in her public?"

"He may as well have," I replied, keeping my irritation at bay. "He kept the windows open as to allow for an audience."

"You're a damned liar."

"I heard her asking him to stop once," Anthony said, his voice so low it was almost a whisper. Max and I both turned and found him standing several feet away, his face red with anger.

It startled me to find him there, and I stared at him, unsure of what to say or how to react. He no longer appeared compliant or able to restrain himself a moment longer. In the heat of anger, he could have lashed out at both of us, considering the only person on his mind was Julia.

"Clear to the end of the street I could hear her screaming." Anthony looked at me, a mix of fear and loathing in his gaze. "At least half a dozen people heard her and not one of them batted an eye. If you choose not to believe what Monsieur Kire says then you had damned well better listen to me."

"If this is true, then why didn't you say anything?"

"To whom?" he demanded, his hand balled into a fist. "To the rest of the family that had completely abandoned her? For god's sake, your father treated your mother in the same fashion. No one cared then and no one cared later."

"I would have—" Max started.

"No, you wouldn't have. I've said the same thing myself, but if I would have done something, said something, I would have done it at that time rather than brood about it years later."

He glanced back nervously, then turned to face Max again. "You have no right to tell her what's best for her. If you don't leave at once I swear to you that your body will be removed from France in a coffin." He quickly glanced at me, the intensity in his eyes overwhelming. "You have no right to take this away from her. No one does, since we didn't do a damned thing to keep her safe."

"Anthony," Julia called. "Have you found Erik yet?"

The sound of her voice made me jump, as I hadn't expected her to be at the bakery. I shot Anthony a look, wondering why in the hell he hadn't said that Julia was waiting outside.

He nodded at me. "Don't delay a moment longer."

"Are you staying here?" I asked. Julia would not be pleased that her cousin wasn't in attendance for our wedding.

He sighed, clearly unhappy with his plight of keeping watch over Max. "I don't trust him to stay away." He inched closer, studying Max as though he expected him to leap up and run away. "And I would rather not have Julia see him."

Which made me wonder what she thought happened to Lisette, who by now had surely told her mother that she'd been abducted by her uncle.

"Anthony, I—" Julia walked into the room and spotted me immediately. She was dressed in a simple skirt and blouse, but her hair was twisted up from her face with tiny clips of pearls. Relief showed on her face, and she released a trembling breath. "Thank god you're safe," she whispered as she walked toward me.

Once she rounded the table, she saw Max on the floor and turned her face away from him, her eyes glassy and grief-stricken.

"This is absurd," she said under her breath.

"I know," I replied.

She touched my chest, her trembling hands searching for the comfort of my heartbeat. When at last she found it, she wrapped her arms around me and sighed against my shoulder. "There is a carriage waiting for us outside."

I nodded and ran my hand down the length of her spine. "Is Lisette home safe?"

"Yes." She buried her face against me, rubbed her cheek against my shoulder. "Thank you, Erik."

"I would not have harmed her," Max growled.

Julia pulled away from me and shot him a most deadly look. "And what precisely did you think it would gain to steal her away from me? My own daughter, abducted on my…" Her voice failed, her lips struggling to hold back a sob. "You left me once when I begged you to stay, Max. Now I'm begging you to leave…leave me, my daughter, and my family alone."

"If he supplements your funds then you don't need me, do you?" he asked.

"I took care of myself, Max. Long before you considered squeezing every last franc from my bank account and holding it until I came to my senses. I took care of myself and my daughter. What did you do?"

He stared at her, his jaw set.

"Exactly. You never even bothered to open your mouth." She reached for my hand and gripped it tightly, allowing me to feel her frustration. "You have picked one hell of a time to act like my brother, though I doubt you ever considered that I wouldn't want you anymore."

Anthony shifted his weight, his gaze fixed on Max. "Everyone is waiting for you, Julia. Go on."

"Leave him," she said, her voice cold and uncaring. I barely recognized her as she stood beside me, a lifetime of anger given a voice at last. "Let him crawl away."

"Is it true?" Max blurted out.

She stared at him, her eyes narrowed. Anthony looked away, perhaps assuming as I did that she'd overheard part of our conversation and knew we had discussed her marriage to Louis.

"What does it matter to you?" she asked.

That was all she needed to say. With one last glance at her brother, she mumbled to Anthony that Monsieur Kimmer was waiting for him along with his daughter and that she didn't want to delay a moment longer.

"Are you certain he should be left alone?" I asked as she pulled me out of the bakery.

"He won't be alone," she assured me. I gave her a quizzical look. "My uncle is coming for him."

"Testan?"

She nodded. "He's not pleased with Max and how he has treated his favorite great niece."

-o-

We sat in silence for most of the carriage ride and watched the streets of Paris pass before our eyes. Now that we were in such close proximity I smelled her familiar scent and the inviting, familiar perfume she wore. For as long as I would live, sandalwood would catch my breath in my throat.

I had plenty to say to her, like how relieved I'd been to find Lisette and how I'd restrained myself from killing her brother, but I didn't want to talk about what had happened. As far as I was concerned, Max Falchetti had ruined our day and I didn't want to allow him further admittance into our lives. He'd taken from me something I'd wanted for years. It seemed foolish now that I had allowed him to live.

While I waited for our carriage to stop before her house, I studied her. I would have married her that moment, without a ring to give her and without worrying about her being in proper dress. I needed the solidity of her in my life, and the hour I'd spent in the bakery had shown me how easily someone could walk in and attempt to take her from me.

At last I thought of something worth mentioning. "You have an ocean's worth of pearls in your hair."

She looked at me sharply, but just as swiftly her lips curled up in a smile and she chuckled to herself, touching the back of her hair. My pulse quickened at the sight of her gently adjusting her hair. Later in the evening I would pluck the pins from her locks and watch the shower of silky strands cascade down her slender bare back.

"Lisette kept adding them. It's a ridiculous amount, isn't it?"

"I think you look beautiful."

She laced her fingers with mine and leaned over until I could feel her warm breath on my jaw. Her caress was like no other, a soft whisper of acceptance. Nothing else mattered in the world except having her at my side.

With a smile, she lifted my mask and kissed my cheek. Her lips lingered much longer than necessary. She stopped the breath in my lungs, paralyzed me with an intimacy that would have to wait until after the ceremony.

I turned my face and kissed her back, moving my arm around her to hold her tight. If we weren't careful, we'd succumb to our needs. I had no desire to be careful. I wanted her as much then as I had the first time I had seen her.

She smiled against my lips and cupped my cheek in her hand. "My memory of this day will always begin with those words," she said.

My memory of this day would always begin with her kiss.


	63. A Love Like No Other

A/N: To "Gail". Happy anniversary, baby! Thanks for helping me in a pinch!

OW63

The sun had started to set by the time we finally settled at my house and resumed the wedding. Alexandre and Lisette comforted one another in the study while Julia finished dressing and refreshed her hair. I made both Madeline and Meg stay with her as I knew if anyone came to her door attempting to interrupt they would not find a way past a woman heavy with child and a soon-to-be grandmother with a protective streak the size of France.

"My father will take care of you," I overheard Alexandre say to Lisette. His voice drew me toward the parlor, the distraction they provided welcomed and needed. "He won't ever let anyone hurt you, especially not some boy."

"Mother says your father will never allow any boy to speak to me, ever," Lisette replied, batting her eyelashes at him. Hermine Leach had taught her well.

"Besides me," Alex said, perked up by her words. "You don't need to speak to any man besides me."

Ah, I thought to myself. So now he was a man. It made me smile to watch the two of them interact. With a longstanding friendship they would make a caring, respectful pair of siblings. If there was a new baby—when there was a new baby in the household, I had no doubt the two of them would coddle and entertain their new brother or sister.

Of course, they would have to pry the infant from my grasp. With no desire to ever let go of Alexandre, I knew if I should father another child I would hold onto him or her for as long as possible.

"What if I want to speak to other men?" she asked.

Both Alex and I frowned. He voiced the words in my mind.

"Why would you ever want to do that for?"

"Meanie says boys buy the girls they like all sorts of wonderful presents." She shrugged her shoulders and tossed her head back and forth, which I imagined was supposed to make her appear attractive. Instead it made her look like a pony shaking off a fly. "Flowers, jewelry, candy, toys, supper, ice cream, tickets to the theater…"

Good god, I thought. She had a list longer than any bank statement I'd ever received. Any man who courted Hermine Leach—or Lisette, for that matter—would find himself penniless after the first two weeks.

"Just ask Father. He allows me to buy whatever I want. Well, almost."

"Indeed, Alexandre," I scolded from the doorway.

The two of them nearly jumped out of their skins.

"I said almost anything," he stressed.

"Which is still almost true," I replied.

Bessie, who had been laying unnoticed at their feet, gave a half-heart wolf before she stretched out in the last patch of sunlight. Her tail thumped the rug, her normally downtrodden gaze heavy with sleep. I had unfortunately roused her from a much-needed evening nap.

"Grand-mere says I should put the dog and cat out before we begin, but I don't want to," Alex said to me. "I think they want to watch."

"Aria could be another flower girl," Lisette said, obviously pleased with her idea.

If anything could cancel the wedding, it was a cat made into a flower girl.

"She'd rather nap," I said, as to not hurt her feelings.

Footsteps down the hall drew my attention to Archie Leach. "I apologies for interrupting," he said. He snapped his fingers and gave me an eyebrow waggle, which had absolutely no meaning—at least to me. "But the bride has arrived."

Both Lisette and Alex jumped from their seats by the window and ran out the door, narrowly missing a collision with Monsieur Leach. Archie smiled as he watched them tromp down the hall and slide in their new shoes around the corner where they disappeared into the parlor.

I glanced at my watch and noted the time before I followed them into the room where the ceremony was to take place. Briefly I held the watch in my fist and couldn't distinguish the soft tick of time from my pulse. My life would begin at approximately six-thirty.

"How is she?" I asked.

"Meanie says she's never seen a more beautiful bride," Archie answered. He put his hand on my shoulder and nodded. "How do you feel, you old dog?"

"Like I cannot wait a moment longer," I replied.

-o-

My nerves turned from steel to liquid as I stood in the parlor beside Charles and Alexandre, who played the violin as though he'd been born with one in hand. I watched him, focused on my pride in him rather than my terror of standing before a small crowd. The moment turned from anticipated to surreal.

In my dreams I had imagined a wedding between me and a woman who obeyed me because she had no other choice. I maintained that she would learn to love me eventually, that I would give her precisely what she wanted and never remove my mask in her presence, both for her comfort and mine.

But the reality of it was different. I hadn't conned her into marriage, which had changed everything. My mask lay on my dresser upstairs while sunlight still managed to fill the room in gentle streaks of fading light.

This had never been my picture of a wedding. I hadn't dared to dream such details and sicken my heart with disappointment.

I'd made love to Julia, I'd shared intimate moments with her, but this was something completely different. We would join together for our lives, not for an evening.

Julia appeared in the doorway, and my breath caught in my throat. I had always thought of her as attractive, but she looked like a dream, like something I would never deserve. Yet I had earned the right to have her. The Opera Ghost, the entity who would have preyed upon her no longer existed as a dominate force. Only a man deserved Julia Falchetti.

It took me a moment to realize my lips had parted and I'd stepped forward, away from Charles and Alex. I wanted to see her up close, forgetting that she would come to me.

I'd always wanted a bride to come to me.

"Relax," Charles said under her breath. "No more people disappearing. There's been far too much of that."

I nodded and looked at him from the corner of my eye, unable to look away from Julia, who held her gaze to me. "Agreed," I said softly, then swallowed as she approached. The hem of her dress swept across the floor and gave the illusion that she glided, a swan upon a lake. In my affection for her, my metaphors suffered the most. Nothing in the world compared to Julia.

She was dressed in dove gray lace that I found myself afraid to touch. Like icing on a cake, she appeared delicate. The slightest brush of my glove against her sleeve and I feared I'd mar her beauty.

Her chest heaved beneath a fashionably cut—but not nearly satisfying to my gaze—neckline. She wore a necklace that matched Lisettes, the ones we had bought for the two most important and sensible women in our lives as wedding gifts. It seemed so long ago that Alexandre and I had visited the jeweler. Indeed, for me it was a lifetime ago.

Fearing to ruin her beauty and needing to touch her battled within me, and naturally desire overcame apprehension.

"It's quite unfair of you," I said as I took her hands in mine.

She looked at me, her brows raised in question.

"For you to grow more beautiful each time you walk into the room."

Her face began to crumple, and she shook her head, her hand tightly squeezing mine. "Don't you dare make me cry, Erik."

"Ladies and gentlemen," Charles began. We both looked at him, our linked hands trembling to show one another that we were both more than willing to continue yet still nervous. "I have had the honor of knowing Monsieur Erik Kire for many years now. I have had the pleasure of teaching his son Alexandre, and I have been most fortunate to meet Madame Julia Seuratti and her daughter Lisette, and they will make a solid, loving family. There is no greater gift than to bring these four together today."

Lisette stood beside Julia and Alexandre stood before me, a bond we wished to make not only as husband and wife, but brother and sister, mother and son, father and daughter. This was our commitment to one another, two parts of a family made into one before our friends and extended family.

I tried my best to listen to Charles's speech, but I found myself wandering, looking from Julia to Alex, to Lisette, and our guests in attendance. Madeline stroked Meg's hair, a motherly gesture neither of them would ever outgrow. Madeline smiled when she saw me staring at her, a proud mother surrounded by her children. My cousin sat with his daughter and Anthony while Archie and Ruby remained close.

My gaze returned to Julia just as Charles asked if I would accept her as my wife in sickness, health, richness and poverty, and all of the trials love may bring. Charles slipped a gold band into my palm, which I placed on Julia's finger with surprising ease. I'd expected to tremble or nearly drop it, but it was something I wanted so badly that there was no time for mistakes.

"Do you, Erik Matthew, take Julia Catherine to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

"I will," I said, drawn to her, unable to look away as Charles asked her the same question. It no longer mattered that we stood before a crowd. Our words, or promises, were meant for each other.

She squeezed my hand, stepped in closer than before once Charles handed her my ring and she was to place it on my hand.

"Julia Catherine…"

I barely heard Charles speak. There were so many things I wanted to tell her, so many promises I wanted to make and apologies I wanted her to accept. In our nervous smiles and gentle, loving strokes, we told each other everything.

"I will," she answered, her voice filled with emotion. She leaned in closer, allowed words only I could hear her speak. "There is nothing you and I cannot overcome together," she said.

And as she spoke her eyes filled with tears and brought her into my arms, pressed her firmly to me, afraid we would both begin to sob. Unafraid to show it, I held the most important and loving woman in the world.

Charles paused a moment, the crowd sighed faintly as I held her and kissed her forehead, then her lips, damp with tears and warm with the life of a living, breathing bride. It wasn't appropriate or expected for a husband to kiss his new wife during the ceremony, but I'd never much cared for appropriateness. I wanted them to know how much I loved her and how she accepted me, wanted them to see what I had become, how much I had earned this day.

"Before your family and friends, I now pronounce you man and wife," Charles said as I pressed my forehead to Julia's and looked into her eyes, saw only her, my new bride, my precious Julia.

He cleared his throat first and then presented the four of us as a family. I put my arm over Alex's shoulders, draped the other over Julia and held fast to Lisette, who reached up and grabbed my hand.

I had everything I had always wanted and no one would ever take it from me.


	64. Wedding Party

Shameless plug for myself (for those of you over the age of 18): This month I have HOT PHOENIX NIGHTS (Latina) coming out at Amber Quill. June: ADENO (fantasy) July: SEX BETWEEN STRANGERS (futuristic) August: DREAMWALKER (time travel, contemporary) Check out my website to see what's up and what contests I'm currently running and what's coming out when. Once you read the Erik/Julia wedding night imagine my other stuff ten times hotter. Hee hee hee…

One Week has probably 2 more chapters left (more if I stretch out the honeymoon). I'll try to at least get their wedding night in by next week if not by this weekend. Probably sooner than later.

Gabrina

OW64

Both Archie and Anthony displayed their talent for juggling pears and had both Alex and Lisette convinced that their future was in the circus, rather than continued studies with Charles. In a rather loud and inappropriate voice, Alex proclaimed that juggling required greater skill than reading Latin, to which Charles did nothing more than smile.

While people mingled in the parlor, I stole kisses from Julia, and held her closer than was appropriate considering the amount of people in the room. No one seemed to notice as the attention shifted from our vows to Archie's antics and Anthony's gentle teasing of the children. Anthony was relaxed and smiling, as was Joshua and his daughter Elizabeth, whose smile and laughter reminded me of Julia's.

I couldn't keep my hands away from her, especially after our long abstinence. After years alone, once I'd found her, I couldn't imagine returning to a life of solitude. Her closeness sustained me like nothing else, which I demonstrated as I ran my hand down her spine and cupped her bottom.

"Erik," she warned through her smile.

"We're in a corner," I pointed out. "No one will see."

"That isn't the point."

I didn't care if they saw or overheard me tell her repeatedly that I loved her. Each caress, each murmured word was a prelude to our night alone together, our last evening spent alone in her house while Madeline watched over the children and Meg most likely watched over the lot of them.

"I'll show you the point, Madame," I growled in her ear.

For once she smiled at my lusty nature and surprised me by doing to me exactly what I had done to her only a moment earlier. Julia was always the more civil one, and I stared at her, searching her face to see if she'd done it by accident or on purpose.

"Julia," I said once I realized she'd meant it.

"Now behave yourself," she said, straightening to become the proper woman once again. "They're here because they want to see us happy."

"If they wanted to us happy they'd leave us to our own devices," I replied softly.

She nudged me in the ribs but couldn't keep the smile from her face. "I know you don't mean that."

"I mean it, but I'm not serious." Or, rather, I wasn't a complete fool willing to admit it. One false move and she might put me on the couch for our first night as husband and wife.

"You must cut the cake," Madeline insisted. "Before Meg starves to death."

"Mother," Meg groaned. "Supper first."

She looked to Charles for assistance, but her husband was deep in conversation with Joshua, who was busy shaking one fist and petting Bessie with the other as she waited for him to drop something from the plate of meat and cheese balanced on his knee.

"Would everyone like to sit down to supper?" Julia asked.

Everyone nodded and mumbled in agreement save Lisette and Alex, who took off down the hall where Ruby was finishing the last touches. I didn't see Archie or Hermine and assumed they had decided to assist her, since there was a larger supper crowd than usual.

Julia and I held back as everyone filed out of the room and walked down the hallway. Meg remained behind and draped her arms around Julia.

"That was beautiful," she said. "Absolutely beautiful with the four of you all together. I've never seen you and Lissy look so beautiful." She looked at me and patted my arm. "And you and Alex are so handsome. I won't ever forget this, not ever."

She suddenly fell into my arms and pressed her cheek to my chest. I felt the startling, hard bulge of her belly against me and looked to Julia for assistance, but she stood helplessly watching. No amount of reasoning could tap into the mind of a woman ruled by her emotions, and Meg was nothing but emotion.

"I'm so glad you're both married now," she said with her face against my chest. "I've always wanted a sister and I couldn't imagine a more wonderful addition to the family."

Just as quickly as she had dived into my arms, she pulled back and gave a curt nod. "You had better listen to everything she tells you."

"I already do," I answered.

"Good." She gave Julia a quick hug and a peck on the cheek before she waddled out of the room.

Julia and I stood together for a moment, smiling at one another. She linked her hands behind my neck and kissed me full on the lips.

"You just lied to her face," she teased. "You never listen to a word I say."

"I listen to everything you say," I told her. "And then I decide that you're…" Her eyes narrowed. "That you're always right, of course."

I held her to me, and wished we were alone in the house so that I could dance her around the room and keep her as close as I desired.

"We leave tomorrow at noon for the seashore," she whispered in my ear. Neither of us had visited Southern France, and I looked forward to enjoying excursions during the day while we explored one another at night. "Archie and Meanie are staying several miles away and said they would watch after Lissy and Alex if we wanted time…alone."

God bless the Leaches, I thought.

"I'd considered having the children stay here, but Lissy is quite excited about the sea and cannot wait to collect shells."

"They're old enough to stay out of trouble," I said. We were old enough to stay in trouble.

"We're being rude," she said. "They're waiting for us to join them."

We would be rude a moment longer. Tilting her back, I swept her into my arms and kissed her hard enough to make her gasp for breath.

"Tonight," I told her. "I will steal the breath from your body one kiss at a time."

-o-

Supper, in its own way, was no different than usual. Madeline insisted that everyone eat much more than they were capable of while Ruby managed to push food onto plates and refill wine glasses without anyone ever noticing.

Cheeks grew more rosy than usual, and the conversations were peppered with comfortable laughter. We toasted health, additional children, long lives, riches, and happy marriages. Each toast required another sip of wine, and halfway through Hermine began giggling every time she raised her glass.

Charles went about his storytelling, for which he had an inherent knack, while Alex shared whatever was on his mind and—at one unfortunate point—made Meanie snort so hard she began to choke on her wine, which seemed to horrify Lissy. Her reaction was probably a good thing since Lisette appeared far too mesmerized by Hermine Leach's ability to charm.

The cake Anthony had made sat on a table at the far end of the dining room, white and blue ribbons sticking out from the bottom tier. Attached were charms, which Madeline, Elizabeth, Hermine, and Lisette would pull out of the cake and discover if they would be old maids or be blessed with many children.

That was of no interest to me.

I caught myself staring at it several times, as I'd been on strict orders not to indulge in sweets. How exactly my life had ended up governed by hens I had no idea, but as long as there was cake served, they could say whatever they wished.

"I do hope Julia and Erik give Meg and Charles's son a playmate soon," Madeline sighed as she leaned toward Elizabeth Kimmer. "It's a pity to have a child grow up alone. I wished Meg had a brother or sister all of her life to play with and enjoy."

Elizabeth smiled, appearing slightly embarrassed by Madeline's comment. "Time will tell, I suppose."

"I suppose," she agreed, though her heart wasn't in it. "Parents are only successful when their children return with children of their own. I knew it would happen."

Meg gave her a look that I recognized well. If she could have, she would have put her hand over her mother's mouth to silence her. Perhaps she didn't have the heart to deny her mother.

"You shouldn't pressure them," Meg said under her breath. "You've always said babies come when they want."

"But I don't want to miss them," Madeline said defensively.

Both Meg and I grunted our disapproval of her ploy for attention, then looked at one another and shook our heads.

Julia placed her hand over mine and laced our fingers together. She looked at Madeline and smiled as she turned to me. Only I could see the twinkle in her eyes, and it stopped the breath in my lungs.

"I don't think you'll have to worry about that, Madame."


	65. Alone at Last

OW65

It was easier to sneak back to Julia's home than I had imagined. Both Lisette and Alex had fallen asleep on the couch side by side, Hermine and Archie called it a night and walked home, Anthony was too preoccupied with lovingly staring at Elizabeth to notice much else, and Joshua said it was well past his bedtime.

In a way, we were allowed to leave because no one much cared. Fed, full of wine, and sleepy, they were most likely relieved that we were no longer entertaining them.

After a brief exchange with Joshua before he returned home, I turned to walk out the back door and found Madeline standing by, wringing her hands like a nervous child.

"Madame?" I said.

"You won't be living with us anymore and you're taking Alex with you," she said, her voice wavering on the edge of tears. "I'm very happy for you."

It certainly didn't seem like it, but I nodded and hoped she wouldn't start crying—how I despised crying. Julia, being a woman and naturally inclined to console others, nodded and put her arms around Madeline.

"We'll be nearby if ever you need anything," she said.

I was tempted to tell her that if she needed anything for the rest of the night she had best walk down to the Leach's house, but I knew Julia would either step on my foot or pinch me, so I held my tongue and forced myself to nod.

"If I've never said it before, I love you dearly, Julia," Madeline said. I wasn't sure if it was her speaking or the wine, as she looked glassy-eyed and her cheeks were much more colorful than was usual for her. "Everything that happened between us in the past I would like to leave there. I said many things to hurt you, and I never meant any of it. You've always been like a daughter to me, even before I knew about how the two of you…felt for one another."

"You've always been like a mother to me," Julia said. She drew back, tactful but assertive. "We'll see you tomorrow before we leave for the seashore."

Madeline nodded. "Take care of him," she said, trying to keep her voice low so I wouldn't hear. "Please, Madame Kire, take good care of my Erik."

Julia's eyes filled with tears and she flung her arms around Madeline. "Oh, Madame Giry, you're the first person to call me by my new name."

After their rocky relationship, I knew it meant a lot to Julia to have Madeline recognize her as her daughter-in-law and as part of our family. At one time Madeline had thought Julia was cruel and indecisive, but I knew she now loved her as she loved Meg and Alex. They would always be close, always confiding in one another until Madeline's death many years later. This would always stand out to me as a perfect moment in our lives, a time when nothing dared to overshadow the peace we had in the house.

"We've escaped, no worse for wear," I said as I reached for Julia's hand.

"It was a lovely evening," she said, sounding wistful. "I couldn't have asked for a more perfect ceremony or night." Her hand squeezed mine tightly. "And the music Alex played," she sighed. "I thought for certain you'd have me weeping the entire night. You must have taught him quickly."

"He taught himself."

Her eyes lit up. "He's a natural."

"He's a genius." It was difficult for me to speak of him and not smile with pride. I had always known that one day he'd find his love for music, though with how much he enjoyed reading and writing I thought he'd wait until I was dead to find his musical muse.

"I didn't think he took interest in music."

"He couldn't stay away forever."

"No, of course not. With you as his father, he was bound to find it of interest sooner or later."

We reached her back door and I glanced back once at my house, the home we would take as our own. This would be the last time we walked to her door like this, but for once it was together.

I grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her into my arms, overcome by the need to kiss her now that we were finally alone. She struggled to free herself, then relented as she wrapped her arms around me and kissed me back with the same unabashed need for intimacy.

There we stood in shadows, tangled in each others arms, groaning and sighing as the swell of desire thickened the night around us. She ran her fingers through my hair, pressed her hips to mine until she could feel how she entranced me. I thought for certain that we would never make it inside as there was nothing I wanted more than to take her right there, outside of her house.

She had indeed awakened a beast, one that intended to be called into life time and time again during our first night as husband and wife. It had been dormant for far too long.

"I need you," I breathed in her ear.

"Then what are you waiting for?" she whispered back. Her fingers slipped beneath my cravat, the feel of skin against skin drawing a sigh from my lungs. It always surprised me that a throat could be so sensitive, that a breath against a pulse, a tongue teasing the crook of a neck could elicit such exquisite pleasure.

"I'll have you now," I growled in her ear. "Pressed up against a tree like a beast."

"Is that how you would take your bride the first time?"

My breaths came harsh and fast. I found her lips, kissed her deeply, grasped her in my arms and held her tight. She wriggled against me, finding a comfortable place while she continued to arouse me. Each rub of her body against mine was like nothing I'd ever known before. I could barely wait to run my hands down her sides and grab hold of her hips.

"How would you have me please you?" I asked, wanting her to guide me through our first time as a recognized couple. It intrigued me to think of her in the lead, the master of our wedding night.

She opened the back door leading into the kitchen and pulled me in, her hands at my lapels. I'd never seen her like this, an aggressive lover far more impatient than I.

"Julia?" I questioned as we nearly fell over one another. "What has come over you?"

"I've always wanted to have you like this," she murmured. "But until now you weren't truly mine."

I looked at her, studied her bright eyes and her face masked in shadows. "You were always like this?" I questioned. "Secretly?"

"I've always imagined what it would be like if we…were more honest with each other, yes."

"Honest?"

"If we were comfortable enough and the house was empty and the two of us could…I don't know how to say it."

Whatever she was keeping inside sounded fantastic, even if it was only a hint. I nodded and trailed my fingers up her back, unbuttoning her dress as I continued to kiss her.

"Try to tell me," I said.

"We could do things differently," she said.

"Yes," I hissed, still having no idea what she was talking about but more than willing to find out.

She looked around the kitchen. "Have you ever wondered what it would be like if we weren't in my bed?" she asked.

"We'll know when we're on our honeymoon."

With a sly smile, she reached for my collar and undid the top buttons. "We could find out right now, when we have no one to disturb us."

"Where would we go?" I asked, not wanting to leave her home in search of a place to spend our wedding night.

Her fingers skimmed down my open shirt and undid the buttons on my trousers, her hands moving slowly, deliberately until my newly pressed woolen trousers hung low on my hips. She stepped in closer, her fingers dipping below the waistband of my underwear and stroked the line of dark hair fanning out over my stomach and chest. I kissed her again, my tongue finding hers. Her lips had never felt as warm and soft, her mouth never as sweet as they did on our wedding night.

"We don't have to go anywhere. I have you right here," she said, and her dress slipped from her shoulders.


	66. Unexpected Encounter

If you read this and think it's hot, you'll definitely want to check out my original work, which is even naughtier! My contest for Hot Phoenix Nights ends soon, so please check out my website and join my yahoo newsletter for your chance to win a copy. My first week winner was a reader from ff.

Gabrina

OW66

Her actions shocked me, as I had never in my life imagined that Julia could be uninhibited. Either she'd had more wine than I'd thought or she was a completely different woman than I'd seen over the last few years.

"In the kitchen?" I asked, wanting to make perfectly clear what her intentions were before I made a mistake and assumed too much.

She had my trousers around my ankles and my waistcoat wide open. Her intentions were perfectly clear, but I wasn't sure if this was a prelude to what we'd take upstairs or if the maestro could be freed during the first act.

With a smile, she unbuttoned my shirt and ran her palms over my chest. "Wherever we want," she purred.

There was no time to waste. I seized her at once and brought her into my arms, kissing her hard as I pulled her dress further down and caressed every inch of her flesh available to my grasp. We groaned and fought to free each other from cumbersome clothing, careful not to rip each other's newly purchased finery while at the same time desperate for intimacy.

"What has come over you?" I asked as we fumbled around the kitchen.

"I've been thinking for weeks that our times of having the house completely to ourselves are few and far between. If this is the only moment we're allowed to do as we wish, then I want to savor it," she said, her voice a low, intoxicating growl.

Far be it from me to deny her physical pleasure. I caught her between the wall and my body and crushed her against me, kissing her neck and her ear as she ran her fingernails down my shoulders and bare back. I had never imagined such a moment of unbridled passion, a desperate and needy encounter between two lovers. With Julia it had always been a quietly sensual encounter. We always left each other satisfied, but not once did we tear off each other's clothing or immediately join together.

But this night was not an ordinary evening. Together we erased the terror of the afternoon, forgot what hardships we'd endured to be together. Julia had given herself for me time and again, but now she gave herself to me completely, a woman who knew what she wanted—and it was me.

Fully aroused, I nudged her legs apart and touched her, caressed her center and felt her shiver. The soft hair between her legs was damp, revealing that she was as ready as I was. There was no turning back, no one to stand in our way.

"Turn around," I said hoarsely, breathing through my mouth.

I spun her to face the wall before she had time to react, and like a beast I bent her forward and entered her, a hard, passion-filled thrust that rocked her against the wall.

"Oh!" she said. It was all she could say. I watched her hands spread on the wall, her fingers clawing at the smooth surface. She had no choice but to brace herself as I thrust into her, gritted my teeth and hoped I could last long enough to bring her release.

With one hand I steadied her, with the other I covered her hand for greater leverage. I wanted her to feel every inch of me, to know how much I loved and desired her, how I'd always want her and cherish her.

She guided my hand around her waist down between her thighs. Without a word she encouraged me to touch her. The unexpected pleasure it brought to arouse her was almost my undoing. To know that she wanted this as much as I did only encouraged me to please her, to bring her to climax again and again until she was unable to stand or think. I wanted her to know that there would never be another man who could please her the way I could.

I massaged the spot between her legs, caressed and stroked her as she panted harder and writhed in my grasp, a secret dance between lovers. She made me harder than I'd been in years, harder than I thought possible given I was no longer a young man.

"Erik," she whispered, reaching back to touch my face, to allow for another kiss that made our encounter more intimate than animalistic. How I craved the taste of her on my lips, the warmth of her surrounding me. "Oh, please, I'm so close."

"I know. I feel it," I told her, knowing that it would only take one or two more thrusts before I climaxed within her, gave her everything I had.

She contracted around me, made it impossible to hold back any longer. With my chin resting on her shoulder, I came deep inside of her, filled her with my seed and more passion than I'd ever felt before. My knees bent, body pressed to hers as we remained joined, satisfied lovers unable to make it to the bedroom to show our affection.

We'd shown each other a side of ourselves that we hadn't known existed. I wondered what else we were capable of doing before the night ended.

"That was amazing," she said, still breathing heavily.

I kissed her shoulder, tasted the salt of her skin. "It was your idea," I reminded her, more than willing to show my appreciation. "And what an idea, indeed."

She turned and held me in her arms, allowing me to rest my head on her shoulder. The comfort she provided after such a raw and emotional moment sated me as nothing else could. I loved her dearly, wanted nothing more than her affection. I couldn't believe I'd spent any portion of my life away from her, that I'd spent weeks on end in complete solitude, certain that there would never be anyone in my life.

Tears pricked the backs of my eyes and I clung to her, buried my face in the crook of her neck and sought the shelter of her soft hair and fresh, perfumed skin. It didn't last long, this show of emotion, but her fingers dug into my back and I knew she cried as well.

The sheer impact of the days, of the difficult months and impossible years now far behind us echoed in our silence. I thought of all the time I'd wasted avoiding her, all of the nights I had fixated on something that had never been real. I wept for the forgiveness she'd shown me and the acceptance she'd offered—and the beauty she possessed.

I had a lifetime to see the world in vibrant colors, to cast away the endless tones of gray that had overshadowed my life. With Julia there could be sunlight without fear, a life spent living rather than hiding.

"I love you," she whispered. "More than you'll ever know."

"You're my life, Julia," I said to her, my throat tight and painful. "You're the most perfect part of my life. I've never deserved you. I will never deserve you, not for as long as I live, but I will try."

She brought my face to hers, cupped my cheeks in her hands and kissed me softly, tenderly—as only she could. "You've earned the life you have now. From the ghost I met years ago to the man I married, you deserve everything."

"And you deserve more than you've received," I said.

A smile tipped the corners of her mouth and she reached for my hand, lacing her fingers with mine. The devilish look in her eyes returned, unexpected but again welcomed. "Then you had best take your bride upstairs and give her more, Monsieur Kire."


	67. New Memories

This is the very last chapter of One Week that I'm posting here (the rest of it is a little too hot for public viewing!) I'm only posting the remainder of this story and the rest of my phantom stories on my bulletin board, which is linked to my website and also available on my profile page. You can lurk if you'd like. If you're not keen on joining a bb PM or email me and I'll do my best to accommodate a reader.

The evolution of writing and my career, which I've mentioned before, has taken a front seat which I can't ignore. I need the money! While I love Phan fic, it doesn't pay. Writing isn't all about money but it does help, so if you've enjoyed these stories and want to join my virtual play land I hope to see you over at my bulletin board. If you don't feel comfortable with that then thank you so much for reading and reviewing. You've helped me with the first steps of my dream: world domination. I mean, becoming published. Sorry, I slipped there.

Gabrina

P.S. To NDBRs (that's a trademark, folks) There were a few changes in this finished chapter.

OW67

We stumbled up the stairs in darkness, a trail of clothes left in our wake. Together we laughed and fumbled our way to her bedroom, trying to be quiet even though we had the house to ourselves. It became almost a contest as I ran my fingers along the curve of her bottom and she dug her fingers into my sides. We were attempting to make each other laugh and break the silence, but being stubborn people, neither of us wanted to give in.

"You won't best me," I told her. "I haven't a ticklish spot on me."

"If there is one, I'll find it," she promised.

As I drew her close and kissed her lips, I imagined this was who she had been well before she'd married Louis—a carefree and playful woman. If only for this night I wanted her, all of her, raw and honest.

We fondled one another mere footsteps from her bedroom. Shadows played on the walls around us, a sanctuary of darkness surrounding us. We had all night to be alone, to savor each minute of intimacy.

I kissed her bare shoulder, breathed in the scent of her flesh, perfume, and our mutual arousal. The heat of her body drew me to her and I put my cheek against hers and held her, my eyes closed, my heart beating rapidly against her chest. We rocked, swayed gently in each other's arms to a song we couldn't hear but knew just the same. I ran my fingers through her hair and down the length of her back, an innocent sort of intimacy that I knew I would only find in her arms.

"I could fall asleep like this," I murmured.

She turned her head and kissed my face. "I have many more uses for you tonight," she teased. "I do hope you're not tired already."

I grunted and met her eye. "You should know by now that I cannot resist you, Madame, no matter how hard I try. You're a siren disguised as an innocent."

"There is nothing innocent about me," she replied, and to prove her words she slid her hands down my back and grabbed me, thrusting my hips against hers.

"Come here." Before she could speak, I swept her into my arms and carried her into the bedroom.

Candlelight and the scent of sandalwood greeted us. Two vases of red roses stood on either side of the bed. By the window were two more vases next to a candelabra with two off-white candles, their flames dancing in the breeze.

I paused, still holding her in my arms as I took in the scene. She'd changed the bed sheets to what appeared to be blue silk embroidered with pale blue and silver threads. I'd never seen anything so luxurious and welcomed in my life.

"What's this?" I asked.

"The honeymoon suite," she answered. "Uncle Luc sent me a very nice gift for our wedding."

"Did he?"

"He said that he hopes this is finally the beginning of a life his favorite niece deserves." She wriggled and I allowed her to slide from my arms and stand beside me. "He had the flowers delivered, but since there are so many at your house I thought I'd save them for tonight."

"That was kind of him." The salty old bastard who wouldn't know a genuinely inspired and breathtaking opera if it bit him, I added silently.

"He also said he hopes you have other talents because your career as a composer leaves something to be desired."

"Of course he did," I grumbled.

She buried her face against my chest and chuckled. "It's not unexpected, is it?"

"I would assume he's said much worse, but if he treats you well then the rest of it doesn't matter to me."

Julia looked up and me and smiled. "As long as I treat you well, right?"

I kissed her again, tasted her familiar lips and sweet mouth. "You've always treated me well, from the first day you invited me into your home."

"I still remember that night." She ran her fingers up and down the length of my arms, brushing the backs of my hands before she slid them up again and caressed my shoulders. Everything about her was intoxicating even if it wasn't directly sexual. She knew me better than I'd ever imagined possible, knew exactly how to touch me. I wondered if I knew her in the same way.

"I want to relive the first night we were together," I said in her ear, kissing her neck.

"Another night," she sighed.

I pulled back and looked at her, uncertain as to whether she wanted to continue. Now that we stood in her bedroom I wanted to do more than pin her against a wall and fill her. I wanted to lay her down and make love to her, stroke her hair and have her link her hands around my neck. I wanted to last for her, give her pleasure again and again.

I wanted to be the perfect new husband to the perfect bride.

With a nod I prepared to release her, but she held me tighter than before and looked me in the eye.

"I want this night to be amazing for its own reasons, not because we're reliving our fist time together." She pulled back slightly, tilted her body until her hips aligned with mine. Her fingers grazed my chest, circled around my nipples and down my stomach. She traced my navel, made me inhale to her alluring touch. "I want this night to belong to us as a married couple starting our lives together."

My lips closed over hers, a deep, sensual kiss that locked us together. This would be a night I would never forget and this time for the right reasons. Tonight we were friends, lovers, husband and wife. We were everything.

"Lay with me," I breathed in her ear.

She lifted her chin, allowed me a moment to savor the curve of her neck with my lips and tongue.

"Yes," she said. I swept her into my arms once more and had no desire to release her until morning.


End file.
